


Erised de sidere

by kalime80



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, M/M, Top Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 53,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalime80/pseuds/kalime80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Harry and Draco receive a mysterious letter. Will they risk following the cryptic instructions coming from a stranger? Will it change their fate or help them become what they are meant to be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [dracotops-harry fest 2013](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/244561.html).  
> I'm grateful to [amorette](http://amorette.livejournal.com/) who betaed it (all remaining errors are mine), and to [fyernaice](http://fyernaice.livejournal.com/) for the lovely prompt.
> 
> No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.

 

**Wednesday 12-12-12, 12:12**

It's gone.

It has shaped all my life, and now it's gone.

I was the Scarred One since the first time I looked at myself in a mirror.

I was the Chosen One, because of my scar, since the first time I stepped on Wizarding ground.

I was the Boy-Who-Lived, the Boy-Who-Had-To-Die-To-Save-The-World, because of Voldemort's mark on my brow.

And now it's gone.

Well, to be honest, a pattern of dots has replaced the lightning bolt; but still, it's as good as gone.

It wasn't a joke, then, and I was right to risk it...

 

*

**Earlier that morning**

Never a dull moment here at Hogwarts -- not even this repeat Seventh Year is going as smoothly as I hoped.

I'm savouring my breakfast, idly listening to Hermione and Ron bicker about the amount of food he's cramming onto his plate, when a flock of magpies attacks the breakfast table.

They swoop down and dig into Ron's pile of sausages, leaving his plate almost empty. Ron tries to shoo them away, waving his arms to no avail. I laugh, and he gives me a dirty look.

"What? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, everybody knows it."

"I don't understand why the magpies are stealing your greasy sausages instead of Malfoy's hair... It looks so soft and shiny..."

I'd cut out my tongue if I could: everybody is staring at me now.

Ron grimaces. "Really, mate, it's fine that you don't want to date my sister, it's fine that you're into blokes, but you are thinking about the Ferret too much for your own good, if you ask me."

"Shush, Ronnikins, let him be!" Ginny chastises him, coming to my rescue.

After the war, she confessed that she briefly dated Dean while I was Horcrux-hunting, and since that didn't hurt me at all, we both agreed that we mistook brotherly love for something more. If her family was disappointed that we didn't get back together, nobody said a word to me about that. They were really supportive when I started doubting I'd ever be interested in having a girlfriend, and a nice Floo chat with Charlie helped me a lot in understanding why. Then there was the drinking party in Gryffindor common room last month... Apparently, Firewhisky has the same effects on me as Veritaserum. I only had a sip of it: Ginny asked me if I fancied something, and I blurted out that I've been attracted to Malfoy for ages, realizing too late that she was waving her hand towards the food table. I'm still convinced it was only the alcohol talking, but she thinks I'm in denial and has been very protective of me ever since.

Luckily, the magpies _are_ bringing chaos to the Slytherin table as well, so the attention of all the Gryffindor students is not on me anymore, at least not until Hermione notices an envelope bearing my name. It's sitting on my serving of treacle tart, spoiling it. In its fall, it also managed to splotch my shirt.

I take up the envelope gingerly as Ron complains about the delivery method.

"Really, who uses magpies to deliver mail? A proper Wizard uses owls, not thieving birds!"

Clearly, Hermione knows better: "Not all the time. I read about a Wizard community in Mexico, who relies on parrots... Harry, who's the letter from?"

"Give me a second to read it..."

Ginny bounces on her seat. "What is it, a love letter? Open it!"

I glare at Ginny, tearing open the envelope. A small shining blade falls from it right into my plate, again.

Ginny looks a bit puzzled. "What's that? A letter-opener? A kitchen knife? Why should an admirer send you something like this?"

Hermione looks worried and suggests that we oughtn't touch it until we know more about it.

I unfold and read the letter, forcing my brain to absorb its contents. My friends are staring at me in utter silence, and I realize I still need to answer Ginny's question. My voice never felt so detached before.

"Dunno. It's not a love letter, anyway. No admirer. It's not signed, either. The mystery writer gifts me a spell that will erase my scar forever. The knife is to be used in the spell..."

A shrieking Hermione tears the letter from my hands.

"What? Let me see! You're not seriously considering this, Harry, are you? This must be a joke, maybe from George."

A sick joke, if that's the case. No matter what Dumbledore showed me in the King's Cross Station of my mind, the scar on my forehead still states loud and clear that I'm connected to Voldemort -- even if he, and his Horcrux within me, are destroyed for good. I don't want to keep that Mark. Voldemort's equal, the Hero of the Wizarding World: I don't know which one is worse. I've tried everything in the months after the end of the War to get rid of it, to no avail. But I was discreet in contacting people who, in the end, could not help, and St. Mungo's Healers are sworn to secrecy... Who would taunt me like this? I've no idea; I'm dumbfounded.

Ron gives Hermione an outraged look. "You know that George hasn't put together a single prank since Fred.... anyway, he knows better than to jeopardize my breakfast with thieving magpies!"

"Oh, Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean... Still, it's not safe! Haven't you read the spell this... whoever it is... suggests? It has to be done facing a mirror, with candles burning and spillage of blood, today of all days, at 12:00, and it will take exactly 12 minutes to perform... this doesn't look like real magic, it sounds like exploiting the Mayan prophecy of the end of the world!"

"The what?" asks Ron, puzzled.

Hermione tries to explain: "Come on, Ron, you've read the Muggle papers!"

"The thing I joked about with Harry, you mean? Of the extinct civilization that foretold the Apocalypse?"

I remember that conversation: we agreed that our calendar ends at the 31st of every December, so why should we be worried if the Mayan calendar ends today? Just because they aren't here to print the next one... It seemed funny at the time, but clearly Hermione sees things differently.

"It's not as trivial as you're making it... Never mind. Harry, you know how things are. You've been to many Healers: nothing can make your scar disappear. Every Wizard you consulted gave you the same answer: there's no charm that can affect your scar. You can't even hide it with a glamour!"

"The only way is some good make-up..."

Hermione sighs in exasperation. "Please, Ginny! It's not a matter you can joke about! I find this really worrying..."

As my friends discuss the problem, my thoughts spin so fast I don't know which one to voice.

I want this to be real; I really want it. Don't I deserve some respite now? To be free to be myself, to live my life un-marked? Yet, why should I trust this stranger? And yet again, if there's a way to get rid of Voldemort's brand, I have to risk it. But what if it's dangerous?

"All right, Hermione, check it. Check the knife. Check the letter. Check the spell."

Instantly, Hermione starts throwing one diagnostic spell after another, looking for curses, jinxes, dark magic and general malevolence.

"It seems clean to me."

As soon as Hermione's bursts of magic are over, Ron takes the letter and points at some line.

"Read this bit: the sender sounds like someone who cares about Harry..."

Hermione reads, but looks unimpressed.

"After everything he's been through, after all the people who tried to use or manipulate or plain kill him, Harry's still too trusting for his own good. Even if I checked it all and nothing seems amiss, I have a feeling that something is off with this spell."

My brain slowly starts to work on this riddle.

"Is there a way to track down the sender?"

Hermione palms her forehead and casts another volley of spells.

"It doesn't work. It's as if the sender foresaw the use of the tracking spell and protected himself from being located. I also tried a spell to recognize the handwriting, but it is distorted and unrecognizable. Whoever sent you this really wanted to stay anonymous."

Ginny takes the letter and mutters dubiously, then asks, "Hermione, you know Latin better than any of us. What should the spell do, exactly?"

She takes the letter back, reading carefully: "It should cut a former bond, as I gather, but I'm not sure... I'd have to research. Harry, we need to know more before you..."

"There isn't time for you to research! I have to do this at 12:12, remember? If it cuts every connection to Voldemort that may still be in place, I have to do it. Don't you get it?"

"I do, Harry. I really hope it will do what it says it will, but..."

I understand her concern, but there is only one real question here. "Will performing this spell put my life at stake?"

She looks hesitant, but in the end whispers, "I don't think so."

"Well, then. What's the worst that can happen? If it doesn't work, I'll keep my scar. If it works but it was a prank, I'll probably sport the words _gullible fool_ on my forehead instead of the scar. You said it's not dark magic and that I'm not risking my life. Right?"

Hermione's still unconvinced. "I suppose... I really hope it's as simple as this. Do you really want to get rid of it this badly?"

"Yes! 'Mione, don't you remember the headaches, the visions, the nightmares? The people staring? I want it gone!"

Luckily, at least Ron understands. "Come on, Hermione, it's a great chance for him. Even Muggles think today is a special day. Why can't it be the end of Harry's old life and the beginning of a new and better world? After all, you're not really cut for Divination, are you?"

They seem to have forgotten that it's my decision to make, so I sneak away as they're still arguing.

I've almost reached the door when I hear Hermione's resigned sigh. "I guess Harry's faced worse. Let's hope it works."

I count it as her blessing and go hunting for candles.

 

*

**In the evening**

I spent a whole hour trying to arrange my hair so it wouldn't fall on my brow, so I could show Hermione that the spell worked perfectly (almost perfectly, but I'd rather have some dots than the remnants of Voldemort's killing curse), and now she's staring at me in disbelief. At least Ron is cheering enough for the two of them.

I prod her. "So, Hermione, admit it, I was right. It's gone!"

She rolls her eyes. "Harry, have you looked at yourself in the mirror?"

"Yes, that's how I know it worked."

"Did it really?" asks Hermione, unconvinced.

Ron pipes in. "Of course it did, 'Mione, don't you see? Harry -- no scar. All gone."

A reason for Hermione to doubt the success of the spell comes to my mind, and I hasten to make things clear. "Well, now I have these dots instead, but they're way better."

"Harry, you're impossible. Did you look at the pattern they make?"

"What, like in a connect-the-dots game? Well, no numbers here... but it looks like a small kite with a long tail."

Ron peers at my forehead and offers his own suggestion: "A N written with a dripping quill?"

"Only you would think of that, Ronald," points out Hermione. "You are so untidy in your writing. Seriously, do you never open your study books?"

This alarms me. "Wait, what do you mean? Is this some kind of rune or magical symbol?"

"That is the Dragon Constellation," explains Hermione. "Check your old Astronomy text. In Latin, it's called Draco."

Ron's eyes widen. "Is it the Ferret's fault? May we maim him, please?"

"Oh, shut up, Ronald! Harry will do no such thing. Eight-years must not fight."

"You're boring sometimes, 'Mione," grumbles Ron.

She does not pay him any attention. "I'm glad the spell worked in erasing your scar, Harry. Still, I'm worried about this new development. What do you think? We must find out who sent you the spell. Magpies... they are not uncommon birds, but I've never heard of Wizards training them... I wonder who..."

I let her voice drift away as she hurries towards the Library.

So now I have Malfoy's constellation etched upon my flesh... why don't I feel more disturbed by this?

 

*

_My mind trembles at the thought of encompassing the lack of luck that is affecting my life ever since my first day in Hogwarts, when the beacon of salvation that Harry Potter always has been refused my hand and my friendship._

_I hoped my fate would have changed when the ever-precious Golden Boy managed to banish the Dark Lord from this existence, but of course I must pay for having been a privileged child._

_After all, with Father struggling with nightmares, with Mother intent on selling Malfoy Manor (selling the Manor! It's been in the family for centuries, and now no enchantment can purge it from the desecration it went through during this war), and with Professor Snape in the count of the deceased, why should luck favour me?_

_I just wonder how I could have been so credulous as to believe the message the magpies brought this morning._

_A spell, the parchment said, to get rid of the Dark Mark and of every trace of bonding with the Dark Lord that could be residual after his definitive demise; a spell to set my future free of previous unfortunate allegiances I was forced to enter and to regain the power of my fate._

_Maybe it was a lapse in judgement -- and whom can I turn to for advice? I detected no evil intent, and restoring my arm to its purity was well worth a try._

_This is why my forearm is now graced with the pattern of the Leo Constellation. I wonder whether this is better or worse than the skull and snake -- maybe better, as it's less ominous and less visible. Had I moles, it would be perfectly disguised as a cluster of them, but my skin has always been pure alabaster. Even visible, an astronomical chart is better than the brand of a mad, evil wizard Father was foolish enough to follow into ruin... but I digress. Why the Lion? It's not a meaningful constellation. Is there a hidden message, a code maybe? Nine stars... Denebola... nobody that I know of ever bore that name, not even on Mother's side. Regulus... this sounds more familiar... definitely in the Black family... maybe related to Potter's Godfather... Potter. This year we didn't fight, not even once... guess it's hard to fight with the one who saved your life from Fiendfyre, but he's ignoring me altogether, and it's unacceptable... damned be his Gryffindorishness! Lion... Gryffindor... Leo means lion, of course: I bet Scarhead is somehow involved in this._

_Since he was decent enough to return me my wand, we managed to avoid confrontation. It's been almost six months: now the time has come for a change._

 

*

**Thursday 13-12-12**

As usual, I wake up from a nightmare, and I wake up screaming, tangled in the sheets, with a dull ache in my forehead and a duller one in my heart.

But was it a nightmare? I saw flashes of pale limbs, a slender hand with perfect nails, unusually ruffled platinum hair tossed around, the piercing flash of a silver gaze, my emerald eyes reflected in it. I heard my name, repeated over and over. And the screams were not from pain, either, and... how in hell am I going to ask my friends to help me understand why I am having wet dreams starring Malfoy? Scratch that, they already think I'm obsessed with the gorgeous git, and it's not the first time that in my dreams...wait, was it really _my_ dream? It felt like... no way, Voldemort's destroyed for good, and why should he send me such images anyway? But it felt exactly like the visions I had then, like being in another's mind. In Dra- Malfoy's mind, maybe?

Well, then, it's happened: I have gone entirely bonkers.

 

*

I'm sitting at the breakfast table impossibly early, alone with Ginny. As if the day did not begin badly enough! How can I explain to her what kept me awake almost all night? I'll never hear the end of her teasing.

"I saw my brother sneaking into Hermione's room last night. I guess they won't be up and around for another hour. They're lucky she's Head Girl and has her own private room, if I... Harry, what happened to you?"

Before I can answer her with some half-truth, a certain Slytherin enters the room, looks in my direction, and blushes -- actually blushes -- while I choke on my mouthful of treacle tart and Ginny hits me repeatedly on the back -- and she had sworn she was fine with us not being together and me being attracted to guys... blond guys... a blond guy... just kill me now.

"I tried the spell yesterday, and the scar's gone..."

Ginny looks carefully at my face.

"Then why aren't you happier? You look like you were hit by a shower of Bludgers... let me see... Impressive. The Constellation of the Dragon? Really? Is that a Muggle tattoo? Aren't you a sap? Is this the best idea you had for catching his attention? You know, maybe it will work... he's still staring at you."

"What? Ginny, stop it! For Merlin's sake, I did not do it on purpose! I'm not trying to catch anybody's attention!"

"Denial again? I thought you finally admitted to yourself... What do you want?" The sudden harshness in her tone makes me jump.

"Ginny, you know that..."

A voice I know all too well answers in clipped tones. "May I have the questionable pleasure of a word with Potter? In private?"

Ginny stares shocked at my brow while Malfoy's manicured hand closes around my wrist, and I pass out in a blinding flash of light.

 

*

_Well then, I guess this is proof that the bespectacled git is not the source of the present state of my forearm, given that the poor dimwit has been in the infirmary for the last three hours._

_I should be offended, really. What am I, a Dementor? Is my proximity enough to make him faint like a damsel in distress? Does he maybe wear a corset that's impairing his breathing? Now, that's an image... may one Obliviate himself, I wonder?_

_I'm no closer to understanding what happened. Did I do something wrong, to elicit such a reaction? It didn't feel wrong; it felt warm, if anything, the moment I touched Potter's arm. Warm and comforting and strangely right..._

_I shall concentrate on facts, not sensations. I can control myself. Well, then. I grabbed Potter. His forehead started glowing. He fainted. The Weaslette screamed for help. McGonagall came and levitated Potter's limp body from the pool of Pumpkin Juice. Potter's hair was more tousled than ever, sticky with the juice, and his scar... why was his scar not there?_

 

*

"Do not worry, Minerva. I may not know what it is, but I can assure you the boy is not in any danger. There's no trace of dark magic on his forehead. I wonder..."

I regain consciousness and squirm under the wand prodding my forehead.

Professor McGonagall's stern voice startles me. "Are you awake, Potter?"

Yes, I am. In the infirmary, it seems. Madam Pomfrey continues running diagnostic spells on my scar. On my ex-scar. Whatever.

Ron and Hermione are standing at the foot of my bed, arguing. Why do they always argue?

A sudden feeling of surprise rushes through me, and for a moment, I know Dra- Malfoy has noticed something out of ordinary. _How_ do I know it, though, is unclear.

As Madam Pomfrey lowers her wand, Professor McGonagall sighs. "I hope you are going to explain, Mr. Potter. What happened to your scar?"

Sometimes, I think facing Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest has been the easy thing.

 

*

"Trying an unknown spell on yourself that came from an unspecified source is dangerous and irresponsible. I can't believe you did this without consulting me first, Potter! Miss Granger, I'm surprised you didn't try to stop him."

"I'm sorry, Professor, I did try," Hermione hastens to explain. "I checked the letter with every spell I know. I wanted to research further, but Harry was in a hurry. It had to be done at a fixed time... Professor, have you read the Muggle newspapers? There's been a lot of speculation about day 12-12-12 as the end of the world. The pre-Colombian cultures are just fascinating, aren't they?"

Ron cuts in quickly. "You're babbling, 'Mione. Professor, at first we thought my brother George was back with his tricks. Then Hermione checked the thing for dark magic, and found none. Harry really wanted to get rid of his scar; you know how many times he..."

McGonagall's face softens. "I understand. Well, then, it's fifty points from Gryffindor for reckless experimenting with one's own health. Fifty points _each_. Potter, did you at least have the sense to keep the letter you received?"

I _did_ have the sense, and I hand the letter over quickly.

McGonagall reads it aloud, her eyebrows raising higher at every sentence:

 

> "Dear Mr. Potter,
> 
> Loath as I am to address you as _dear_ , you deserve a chance at happiness.
> 
> If you want to get rid of the scar that marked you as the Dark Lord's equal and enemy since the death of your beloved mother, carefully follow my instructions, as this is your only chance.
> 
> You have to start the ritual at 12:00 am sharp on 12-12-12, alone in front of a mirror, in a circle made by fifteen burning, black candles. You need to cut your left palm with the enclosed knife, following its lines, deep enough to make it bleed. Dip the fingertip of your right index finger in the blood, and trace your scar with it. Do this twelve times, chanting the following spell, which has to be done wandlessly:
> 
> _Finite Nexum Priscum Atque Nectite Corda Ad Astra._
> 
> Try not to mangle the words, although your pronunciation always left something to be desired.
> 
> It is of the utmost importance that you do this at the precise time I advise, and that you should finish and extinguish the candles exactly 12 minutes later. Keep the blade in a safeguarded place afterwards: you may need it again.
> 
> This should secure your future, and fulfil my promises."
> 
>  

Questions are issued at me at the speed of a Firebolt.

Yes, I have the blade. It's in my pocket. Yes, I'll allow Professor Flitwick to study it.

No, after performing the spell, I felt perfectly fine.

Yes, I fainted this morning.

Yes, I was with Ginny.

No, I don't remember... yes, Malfoy was there, but he didn't attack me. I don't know what he wanted. Could he be the sender? Maybe... he never liked me, sure, so why should he care about my happiness? I don't think... No, I don't know why George should loathe calling me _dear_ , but we thought it was a joke...

Yes, it sounds like someone who cares... I saw Remus's dead body, for Heaven's sake, I know it's not him.

Who promised anything about my future? Well, Sirius did, but he's dead as well. Every single person who cared for me is dead!

Just leave me alone!

I storm out of the Infirmary, leaving the letter behind.

 

*

_Potter is upset. No clue how I know it, but I'm as sure of it as I'm sure I'm a Wizard. Potter is upset. I should make it better._

_Why should I?_

_I should go to the Headmistress's office right now and, according to the Bloody Baron, not indulge myself in thoughts of Potter._

_I have a feeling I could be in trouble._

 

*

Since it seems that I'm perfectly healthy, I am to report to Professor McGonagall's study in ten minutes to "further discuss the matter of such an ill-advised enchantment".

Will she dock us more points? I'm fine, really, if not for the nagging sensation that Dra- Malfoy is worried about something... about me? Why should he be?

The password is still "Lemon Drops", and for a moment, I miss Dumbledore.

Malfoy is in the room. He looks tense, but poised and perfectly elegant. Guess who took dance lessons since age four? I can envision a pouting blond boy gracefully moving across a room full of mirrors... and he was pouting because he'd rather be playing with a new potions set that Sever- wait, how do I know this?

His eyes are stormy grey, and they follow me unblinkingly as I sit on the nearest chair.

Professor McGonagall is comparing two pieces of paper, my letter and... Malfoy's?

"Well, Potter, nice of you to be punctual. Malfoy has received a letter almost identical to yours, as you can see, delivered in the same confusing circumstances."

She hands me one of the letters.

The sender addressed him as _My dear Draco_ , because he's much easier to love than I am, clearly. The letter promises to get rid of Malfoy's Dark Mark. His spell requires only nine candles, apparently, and the mysterious sender made no comment about his pronunciation, of course, it being perfect and all. No other differences, though.

I lift my eyes, folding the letter and placing it back on the desk.

McGonagall explains further. "The consequences are also similar: you had your scar replaced by a constellation, and likewise happened to Malfoy."

Dra- Malfoy rolls back the long sleeve of his cashmere charcoal sweater, revealing his forearm... and I find myself staring, for the Dark Mark I know was there has been replaced by another pattern of dots.

"The Leo Constellation, Potter," he explains haughtily. "The Lion."

His gaze is unreadable, his chin set in defiance.

At this point, Professor Flitwick enters the room.

"I've researched the spell, Minerva, and I'm quite positive it's safe. _Finite Nexum Priscum_ is meant to stop, quit, cut, vanish, dissolve, or otherwise remove a former and older bond, thus releasing our students from the lingering influence of Voldemort. Both Mr. Potter's scar and the Dark Mark were a link to him, as you all know. Rescinding that link means that Mr. Potter no longer bears the scar that allowed a connection between his mind and Voldemort's, and Mr. Malfoy is no longer bound by the Dark Mark, as if he never were a Death Eater. Even if Voldemort has been completely destroyed, this is a great gift. I'm still unsure about the _Atque Nectite Corda Ad Astra_ : this part, literally, binds the heart to the stars. I doubt, however, that this is meant to be taken literally. Maybe the former bond was too strong to be released altogether -- it's a matter of balance, obviously -- and it had to be replaced by binding our students to something that would not influence their lives, such as a constellation. More likely, the stars stand for something like fate or future, thus binding our boys to their own destiny, as if Voldemort never existed. This would be good news, indeed. However, I'll continue my research."

Well, at least nobody's trying to kill me. A nice change, I suppose.

"And what about the knives, Filius? Could they be used to rescind the newly created bond? Just to be on the safe side... After some time passes, perhaps?"

"It's really dangerous to tamper with bonds, Minerva. I'd advise our students to keep their knives hidden in a safe place and forget their existence, if possible. Again, further research is needed."

Professor Flitwick gives us the blades back. I think I'll hide mine at the bottom of my trunk, inside an empty box of Chocolate Frogs, covering it with my underwear: it should be safe enough.

Finally, we're dismissed, and Malfoy's eyes quit burning me alive.

 

*

Hermione's conversation, when she is set on resolving some problem, is gruelling, even more so now that my being scar-less seems to be the problem.

Ginny asking loudly if it was Malfoy's touch to set me alight does not help either.

I really do not want to talk about Malfoy and my being obsessed with him. Not while sober. Not even to myself. And absolutely not now that something is clearly going on between him and me. I do not want to analyze it. Surviving through it would be enough.

Hermione's trying to understand the possible meanings of the Dragon Constellation, surrounded by what must be at least half of the Library's stash of books.

"Did you know that Draco is circumpolar?"

I startle. "Malfoy is what, now?"

"Not him. Really, Harry, I'm starting to think you really are obsessed with him. I meant the constellation, obviously. It's circumpolar. It never sets and can be seen throughout the whole year. Maybe this means that in your future you will always find light... And Thuban, the main and brightest star, has been used instead of the Northern Pole Star for more than two thousand years."

Ron is clearly unimpressed by the notion. "So what?"

"Ron, the Northern Pole Star is a reference point! Do you never study?"

"And what does it mean?" I ask quickly, to interrupt their bickering. "That I'll never be lost again? That I'll always find my way?"

"No need to be sarcastic, Harry. If that's what it means, that's not bad for you! Furthermore, in this book Delphia Stargazer remarks that Thuban means _the head of the serpent_."

Ron's face clears up: "The serpent? Isn't it a snake? Maybe your mystery donor chose this constellation because you were a Parselmouth, Harry."

"Could be, Ron," I concede. "I just hope it doesn't mean I'll have to behead another giant snake."

If there's one out here, Hagrid surely will love to have it as a pet. I bet he's still feeling sorry for the Basilisk.

 

*

**Friday 14-12-12**

Draco is hugging me tightly, his hands entangled in my hair, his mouth so close that we share breath, his eyes deep and bright like burning mercury, his body pressed to mine from head to toe. From the warm hardness pressing against my belly, I can tell he's really, really happy to see me. His pounding heart echoes with mine, and his voice sounds like treacle, sweet and slow, as he whispers words of love and reassurance. As long as he's with me, I don't need to fear anything, for he will dispel the darkness, and no nightmare will ever reach me, not through the radiant brightness of his smile, and he'll always be with me, he'll always be my light.

His lips are moist and shining, and I wonder how sweet they'll taste when I... find myself in bed, alone, hugged to my pillow, sweating and painfully aroused, with a wave of disappointment coursing through me. I really needed, wanted, desired that kiss. Craved for it.

Dra- Malf- damn it all the way to Hell and back, he can as well be Draco in my mind, for how I dream about him -- Draco was named for the stars that now mark my forehead. It's as though I'm marked his. Surprisingly, this does not bother me at all, a warm feeling filling me instead.

After my hand has taken care of the situation -- my mind imagining a more slender, paler, softer hand -- I fall asleep and dream of Quidditch.

 

*

_Someone is calling me. I wake up from sound sleep in the middle of the night, with the distinct impression that someone is calling for me, is calling my name. It's a gut wrenching sensation, and heat pools in my groin as I realize that the call does not sounds like mockery or threat or reproach. It sounds like unadulterated need, like someone in the throes of passion pleading for me to bring him release. Like Pott- Harry, calling my name out of desire._

_This spell must give hallucinations._

_I try to sleep, nonetheless, and I'm plagued by images of a Quidditch match -- or is it a Seeker's game? Potter's arse is clad in tight leather, raised toward the sky while its owner crouches on his Firebolt, flying at break-neck speed towards the Golden Snitch; my eyes are soundly glued to that round, sweet, perfect shape. And if Potter wins the game by catching the Snitch, I sure know what I'd like to catch instead._

 

*

I refuse to talk about my "situation" during every meal. Hermione's still worried for me, mostly because she had been able to extort the whole story of my fainting from Ginny, and she confirmed that rays of light were blazing from my Constellation Scar the moment Malfoy touched me.

Having been raised by Muggles, at first she attempts a scientific explanation:

"Was it a soft gleaming? A bioluminescence effect, perhaps? Both jellyfish and fireflies have some bacteria in symbiosis with them, which allows..."

Ron looks disgusted. "Blimey, 'Mione, as much as I dislike Malfoy, I doubt he goes around spreading -- how was that? -- bioluminescent bacteria."

"It was only a hypothesis, Ron." Hermione dismisses the idea. "Could it be phosphorescence, maybe? Harry, have you been exposed to ultra-violet illumination?"

"Should I be offended by this question?"

Hermione snorts. "Don't be silly. Although I think there must be a simpler explanation."

"I know! What's the name of that thing Muggles use instead of Lumos or candles?"

Ginny shouldn't need to ask it, but I answer her nonetheless.

"Light bulbs, why?"

"Well then, it's a light bulb thing, and Malfoy turns Harry on." She smiles triumphantly. "Problem solved."

"Ha ha, Ginny, you're hilarious. It's more likely that I'm turning into a superhero. No radioactive spider bit me, but I can be Snake-man."

When my friends stop laughing at Ron's horrified grimace, I try to persuade them that nothing is wrong. Professor Flitwick checked both the spell and the blade, Madam Pomfrey checked _me_ : they didn't find anything out of ordinary. I want to believe them. That burst of light meant nothing. I don't need another thing to worry about. I'm scar-less now. I deserve some peace.

 

*

It's only one week before winter break, and I refuse to be doing homework right now: what better way to spend an afternoon than flying? Ron has no such luck, as Hermione makes him study with her for hours on end. I hope for him that "studying" is what they call it these days, not that I have any experience of what I'm hinting at.

Riding my broom is always relaxing for me, and I set free a training Snitch to give me purpose. The sun glints on the small, golden ball, and I set to the chase. Gold, shimmering in the light, Draco's hair...

 

*

_This morning at breakfast Potter, looked embarrassed and distressed. Strange as it may be to know how he feels without even looking at the git -- although if I must be sincere with myself, I did look, quite a lot -- I'm sure that's because of his dreams, and if his were like mine, I do know why he felt like that. Seriously, Potter longing for my touch? Maybe in a parallel universe..._

_After the morning lessons -- double Potions and Alchemy -- the ability of reasoning that deserted me yesterday is coming back, and I decide to spend the afternoon musing about the spell that changed my Mark._

_I'm sitting on the lakeshore with an old Astronomy book, trying to understand why Leo among all the available constellations, when a peculiar thought hits me. Aunt Bellatrix often used the Mark to summon the Dark Lord, and he always answered her call. I wonder what would happen if I use my new Leo Mark in the same way: will the stars fall down? Will a real lion escape some zoo in order to find me?_

_The point of my wand is on my new Mark before I can think about it, a web of light connecting the star-dots before disappearing. I prepare myself for the consequences._

_After a few minutes, Potter appears. He's dishevelled, hard-breathing, red-cheeked, with his broom in his hand. Entirely edible._

 

*

I am chasing Dra- the Golden Snitch, when suddenly, I find myself hovering near the Lake.

Draco is sitting on the ground with his back propped against a tree, his eyes closed and a book open in his hands. His eyelashes are impossibly long and thick, a pale lock of hair shadowing his right cheek. He looks like an angel: pure and utterly beautiful.

I dismount my broom and walk towards him, for no good reason at all. Words are out of my mouth before I can rethink them. "I'm here for you, Draco. I answered your call. What do you need me for?"

He lazily opens his eyes, a flash of surprise passing through them before his mouth opens in a lazy smile. He licks his lips, and I stare, mesmerized. I've never noticed how plump they are when he's not smirking or snarling, maybe because it's the first time he's not doing either around me.

"So it's you. You are the Lion. Interesting."

His statement is so odd, it brings me out of my daze.

"Of course I am Lion. I was born on July 31. Why do you care?"

"I'm not talking about Muggle astrological bullshit. Didn't you listen to Professor Flitwick yesterday? Evidently, our bond to V- V- Voldemort has been replaced by another bond... to each other."

This is unexpected.

"What? Am I bonded to you now? How? Why?"

"And I am bonded to you, displeasing as we both may find it. The Dark Mark could be used to summon Voldemort, as you witnessed. I tried to use this... Lion Mark... in the same way, and it summoned you. Ergo, you're the Lion."

Well, this makes sense. I should be more distressed by this deduction... but being bonded to Draco seems much better than having a piece of Voldemort inside me. Having a piece of Draco inside me, on the other hand... Must. Not. Think. That. Now. The very idea is so embarrassing that I lash out.

"So what, you may summon me and I'd be at your beck and call to satisfy your every whim? You wish, Malfoy!"

His drawl sends shivers over my skin. "Do I? If it is so, this situation could entail unexpected benefits. Do you feel compelled to grant my every wish, Potter?"

"Not at all, you wanker!"

"It's interesting you should mention that. Are you inclined to give me a hand, perhaps?"

There's something about Malfoy that makes me lose my temper, it's as plain as that.

"Of course not! Do not put in my mouth things I didn't say!"

"Were I to put things in your mouth, as you so eloquently phrased it, it wouldn't be words, and the activity we'd be engaged in would not qualify as wanking, I fear. But if you insist upon discussing matters of bodily contact, do you care to explain why you fainted yesterday? Nobody privileged enough to be gifted with my touch ever had such an offensive reaction."

This little chat is not going well. I do not even know why I'm still here. I do not need the image of him touching... anybody, really. The sudden stab of jealousy makes me even angrier, if possible.

"Maybe I just wanted to avoid the experience."

"Such big words are not becoming on your lips, Potter. The burst of light that came from your forehead is still unexplained, though."

How can he be so calm discussing this? I answer defiantly.

"Maybe it was just electricity, we being opposite charges and so on."

"Is this e-lek-trissy-tee a Muggle thing?" he inquires coldly. "If so, I strongly doubt it. Maybe I shall simply touch you again and see what happens..."

For a moment, I stare at the graceful way he rights himself, then his words suddenly make sense, and I recoil. Were he to touch me, it should not be testing the consequences of some spell ...

"The hell you will, Ferret!"

For a moment, he looks hurt; then he shrugs as if nothing happened.

"Well, then. I shall report to Professor McGonagall. I'm certain she would wish for us to investigate further any reaction to the spell... And this leads me to another question: if my Lion Mark works in almost the same way the Dark Mark did, what about your scar? What powers did it have before?"

"No powers at all; it only gave me headaches."

 

*

_Messing with Potter has always been my greatest pleasure; the goal of my days to see those green eyes burning me, alight with rage, to have every ounce of Potter's attention. I'm a master at that._

_Today I did better than ever, better that taunting him with Dementors' cloaks, better than breaking his nose. He was deliciously blushing throughout the entire conversation, and I could almost taste his outrage._

_Finally, the universe deemed it appropriate to grant my wishes. Potter is bound to me. I summoned him, and he came for me. Oh, to have Potter truly coming for me..._

_So how can it be I'm feeling so unsatisfied?_

 

*

I've just had a civil conversation with Malfoy. No jinxes, no curses, no fists, no insults. Unbelievable. He did mock me quite a bit, what with all those innuendos, but still.

Does he really think I'm bound to him now? Was he pleased that he managed to summon me? And that bit about all the people who liked his touch? Why did it make me nauseous? I bet he was just trying to rile me up. He always managed to get under my skin.

Still, talking to him made me aware that I've bigger problems than the aftermath of a spell.

 

*

I find my friends in our common room.

Ron's beating Hermione at chess, as usual, even if she studied every strategy book available at Flourish and Blotts. Ginny is sitting by the fire reading some silly magazine for teenage girls, and barely lifts her eyes from the page as she greets me. "Hi, Harry, how was your day?"

Hermione points at the pile of books on the nearby desk. "You should revise Charms, you know. And your Potions essay is two inches shorter than it's due."

"Let me die alone, Hermione. I think I may have a crush on Malfoy."

"Oh, really?" Hermione does not sound surprised at all.

Ginny jumps up, her magazine forgotten.

"End of denial days! Rejoice! Don't you think those black trousers he wore yesterday were making his arse look even more perfect than usual?"

I glare at her; she shrugs. "What? I do have eyes, you know. And he's really fit."

"Don't tell _me._ "

Ron smiles at the chess board. "Checkmate!" Then he shoots me a withering glance.

"Harry, I do not want to hear a word about the Ferret's body. However, I give you my blessing."

Hermione, crestfallen for losing, chastises him. "Don't be infuriating, Ronald. I fear you'll get hurt, Harry. I doubt Malfoy shares your preferences... Wasn't he with that awful pug-faced Slytherin girl?"

The idea makes me sick.

Ginny rolls her eyes. "Didn't she wish? Please, 'Mione! Malfoy's as straight as the path through a labyrinth. Only _you_ wouldn't notice!"

"If you say so." Hermione concedes dubiously. "But Malfoy's always been nasty around Harry. I'm not sure he'll be interested in him in that way, even if..."

"Oh, come on! Haven't you seen how the gorgeous git stares at Harry when he thinks no-one notices?" Ginny shows all her expertise in the matters of the heart. "It took you seven years to understand you love my brother. Leave the seduction plans to the experts! I'll be the one to help Harry get his hands on Malfoy."

I must admit, Ginny has a point, and the idea of having Draco under my hands while not fist-fighting has its own appeal.

 

*

Dinner is a subdued matter for a Friday night.

I'm not sure that I want to face Malfoy right now, and I get a feeling of uneasiness when I think about him. Luckily, he's not in the Hall when we arrive.

Neville's sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Luna: she claims that Nargles love to have him close but are scared of Hermione, so that's where he usually eats his meals.

Seamus is babbling about how we need to throw a New Year's Eve party with Butterbeer flowing, Hermione's chastising him for breaking the rules in his imagination, Ron's cramming his mouth with roasted chicken and potatoes while discussing Quidditch strategy, and Ginny's trying to distract me from my musings by reciting some of the love letters she read in her silly magazine.

I'm aware of the exact moment Malfoy enters the room.

 

*

_I decided to take my dinner fashionably late to avoid Potter altogether after the disappointing conversation we had this afternoon._

_No such luck._

_He's already sitting at his table, laughing with his housemates. Friends. I have housemates. Potter has friends. I briefly ponder the possibility of using my Lion Mark to summon him, but decide against it. It would be embarrassing, and I dislike the idea of having the Golden Boy at the centre of everybody's attention._

_I eat my dinner alone, listening to his laughter._

 

*

"'Dear Heart-Healer, I'm in love with my best friend. I'm too shy to tell him that'... Merlin! Look at him. He dresses to impress, doesn't he? And what did he do to his hair? Harry, have you noticed?"

I do not dare look toward the Slytherin table, but there's no need: Ginny immediately resumes her moment-to-moment chronicle of the dinner.

"He's sitting down. Is his sweater cashmere, I wonder? Nice set of shoulders, anyway. He looked in your direction and grimaced. Has his nose always been this pointy? He's eating his carrots now. He looks dejected. Where is Zabini? They usually sit together... He's looking at you again, I think. His fringe is longer this year -- it's almost covering his eyes. His hair looks so soft. Does he use a conditioner?"

I'm starting to feel miserable as well.

 

*

After dinner, I'm stuck doing homework, but my brain seems to be fixed on the idea that I should go looking for Draco, to hug him and kiss his sadness away. I can throw off Imperius, for Merlin's sake; I should be able to concentrate on my books.

Having digested my revelations, Ron's in a chatty mood.

"But mate, Malfoy's been a prat to you since the first time you met him. How come you fell for him of all people?"

Hermione can't resist the urge to point out a mistake, no matter how small. "He wasn't a prat to Harry, not that time. He was a prat to your family, Ron. He offered Harry his friendship, and Harry refused him."

This does not help me at all. I shake my head in resignation. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me..."

"And he didn't give Harry away when the Snatchers..."

This actually helps, and I reward Hermione with a hopeful smile.

The whole evening is then spent examining almost every interaction I've had with the git. The conclusion is that I unconsciously started finding him attractive during Third Year, seeing him caress the _Monster Book of Monsters_ ; the sway of his hips when he approached Buckbeak afterwards might have played a part as well, even if Hermione claims my brain was not working properly at the time due to lack of oxygen induced by riding the Hippogriff at high altitude. What really made me fall for Draco, though, was seeing his vulnerability in Sixth Year and understanding he regretted his choices. I know I regret using Sectumsempra on him.

Ginny thinks that every time Draco was nasty with me, he was just pulling pigtails, trying to get my attention. I'll never understand how girls' minds work.

"Maybe I can use my recently acquired Dragon Scar to have a peek into Malfoy's brain, then, since obviously I can't be trusted to understand his motives on my own."

I should not have said that. Hermione jumps on this like Crookshanks on a cream platter, and I'm forced to explain what Malfoy told me about his Lion Mark and how it works, re-living the whole embarrassing conversation.

When I'm finished, Ron has a marked green hue on his face. "Harry, mate, you sure you like the prat? He's got a filthy mouth on him."

Hermione is scandalized by my suggestion. "But Harry looking into Malfoy's mind! Maybe that's not really dangerous, but it's not a good idea either."

"No need to worry. It probably won't work. I bet he's a master at Occlumency. I won't stand a chance entering his mind."

"Didn't Voldemort read your thoughts sometimes as well?"

Everybody glares at Ginny.

"Just asking... Maybe Harry will be able to send images to Malfoy's mind without meddling with his thoughts, planting new ideas instead, to make him fall in love, you know."

Now, this is the best idea I've heard so far.

 

*

_As Blaise is still on leave to attend his mother's ninth wedding, I spend a quiet evening reading Muggle poetry and getting depressed. My attempts not to think about Potter are an epic failure, and I retire to my bed early, hoping to find solace in my sleep._

 

*

It has been a long day.

I lay down on my bed trying to keep my mind open. What images can I send to Malfoy to make him interested in me? I'm still trying to decide if thoughts of kissing him will do, when sleep takes me.

I'm eleven again, on my first trip to Diagon Alley. I'm trying on some robes when a blond boy my age starts talking to me. He has a strange and measured way of speaking that's obviously been engrained in him since childhood. He thinks my eyes are beautiful, even under my ugly glasses.

He wants to be my friend: it's a sudden and unexplainable desire.

I meet the same boy again at the school of magic. He's upset that I'm with Ron, jealous that I'm not with him. He insults the Weasley family because he wants to show me he's worthy of my attention. His name is Draco. I refuse him; his heart breaks.

Every time we meet, Draco is mean to me. He wants to get my attention, and he's sure this is the only way to get it. He loves watching me fly.

The next year, he's on the Quidditch team. He enjoys playing against me, even if he never wins. If he can't be my best friend, he'll happily be my best enemy.

Time passes, we grow. He looks at me with longing, but I do not understand him. In his family, things are going badly. He's worried, always worried. He breaks my nose to punish me that his Mother will be alone, but he's secretly thankful that his Father will be safe in Azkaban.

Sixth Year. He cries. He's desperate. He was forced to take the Mark. He's scared for his parents. He thinks I'll never like him if he does what he must, and he'll be dead if he doesn't. I enter the room. He's embarrassed that I'm seeing him at his weakest point. He wants me to comfort him, to save him, to love him. He's overwhelmed by the situation. We curse each other. He lays sprawled in a pool of his own blood, thinking that maybe dying by my hand is the best thing he can hope for.

Time passes, and his desperation grows. The Snatchers bring me to the Manor. Draco recognizes me, of course he does. He dreams about me every night. He stares into my eyes and lies to Bellatrix and to his Father, knowing he'd be Crucioed afterwards. He just wants to save me. He loves me.

The Fiendfyre roars and burns, everything is madness. Draco's heart leaps when I swoop down with my broom to take his hand. He presses hard against my back, his breath hot on my neck, his arms wrapped around my waist in an iron grip. We land messily, alive, rolling on the floor. For a moment, his weight pins me down, and he thinks he'd like to stay like this forever; he flees.

Hagrid brings my limp body back to Hogwarts. Draco cries silent tears.

I wake up. My cheeks are wet.

 

*

**Saturday 15-12-12**

_How pathetic I am._

_Lingering on the past, even in dreams, will do me no good._

_I. Must. Not. Think. About. Potter._

 

*

I decide to keep my night-time travel into Draco's memories secret, even if what I saw turned my world upside down. Despite the lingering sadness, it also fills me with hope, and it's with a spring in my step that I'm going to Charms class when the Fat Lady shows up in Sir Cadogan's portrait.

"Mr. Potter, you have to go to the Headmistress' study right now! You're in big trouble this time, boy!"

I doubt that my friends spilled the truth to McGonagall about how the Constellation connection between Malfoy and me worked yesterday, so what did I do wrong? Where's everybody, anyway? The corridors are empty. The first lesson of the morning should start at nine, that means in... I cast a quick Tempus charm. Oh crap, I overslept!

 

*

Professor McGonagall looks sterner than ever.

"Thank you, Potter, for being so kind as to join us. Your tardiness has been duly noted and will cost you ten points from Gryffindor."

"But, Professor..."

"Do not waste time making excuses. It may be Saturday, but it's still a school day, and you are late. Furthermore, Mr. Malfoy reported an accident related to the spell you two so recklessly performed. I'm disappointed that you did not bring this up immediately."

Malfoy is sitting on a nearby chair and smirking at me. His eyes are red rimmed, and I think he cried, but his jaw is set in a daring way. Did he tell Professor McGonagall that he now has the power to summon me? If so, he should be the one in trouble...

"It seems that when Malfoy touched your arm, making you lose your consciousness, the stars etched both on your forehead and on his arm shot a bright light. This sounds alarming, at least. It may be a sign that we underestimated the power of this spell. Modifying existing bonds is a dangerous matter. There might be some dark magic involved that we didn't recognize. As soon as Professor Snape is back in his portrait, I'll ask his advice. For now, it is of the utmost importance to understand if this... shining reaction is to be expected every time one of you is touched."

I hasten to clarify.

"No way, Professor. With the due respect, Hermione hugged me yesterday, and Ginny as well, and I wasn't turned on by their touch..."

I ignore the muttered, "I bet you weren't," coming from Malfoy's direction and forge on.

"I mean, the starlight wasn't turned on..."

Malfoy interrupts me, and I'm almost glad of it. I'm making a fool of myself...

"I think, Potter, that Professor McGonagall meant we ought to check if the stars will start shining again if we touch each other, you dunderhead!"

"No need to be unpleasant, Malfoy. Now, do give me your hand. Both of you."

Professor McGonagall takes both my and Malfoy's hand and brings them closer, until my palm lays on Draco's. His skin is smooth and warm, and a jolt of electricity runs through my body, but no blinding light flashes from our Constellation Marks, and I remain conscious.

As soon as Professor McGonagall loosens her grip, Malfoy snatches his hand away.

"Well, that's a relief."

"Do not be so quick to dismiss the problem, Malfoy. From how you described it, the reaction you experienced when you first touched each other after performing that spell... I assume it was the first touch?"

We both hurry to reassure her that it was.

"As I was saying, the flash of light you described typically manifests itself when a bond is established. I think Professor Flitwick misread the situation, and that you two are now bonded to each other. I'll ask every teacher to research what this will entail. For now, I advise you to be extremely careful with each other, and to report to me immediately should other side effects manifest. Immediately, Potter, is that clear?"

"Crystal clear, Professor."

"Excellent. You're dismissed."

It went fine, after all.

I'm still shaken by my dream -- my vision -- and the temptation to ask Draco to take a walk with me and talk about things is strong. I'm still gathering my Gryffindor bravery around me when he goes his way without a word.

 

*

_It's true, then. Professor McGonagall confirmed my early suspicions: I'm bonded to Potter. He's obviously displeased with such an arrangement._

_I dreamt about him, about our past, last night. That dream might force me to admit to myself that I've been in love with the speccy git for quite a long time._

_Where's Aunt Bellatrix, when I need someone to Avada Kedavra me?_

 

*

**Monday 17-12-12**

Concentrating on classwork today is harder than ever.

It's the first time I've see Malfoy after Saturday's morning chat with McGonagall. I have a feeling he avoided me on purpose, since he never left the Dungeons all weekend. I know for sure, because I spent an awful amount of time staring at his name on the Marauder's Map, and he barely moved at all. I concentrated hard on sending him sensations of me petting his hair and his cheek, while stroking the letters of his name. Me not knowing how his hair and cheek would feel under my fingers probably made this less effective than I hoped.

However, now he's here, sitting in the last central row and working on his Transfiguration essay. Ignoring me. His head is bent down, and his hair covers his eyes in a cascade of moonbeams. I crane my neck to better admire the graceful lines of his back and the broadness of his shoulders. How many points would Professor McGonagall dock us if I were to get up from my seat, go straight to Draco's desk, grab the lapels of his robe and kiss him squarely on the lips? Will Draco kiss me back, opening his mouth in welcome? I wonder what he tastes like.

My daydreaming is interrupted by a kick in the shin from Ron: I need to finish this boring essay. Afterwards, I have to talk to Draco. He can't avoid me forever.

He does. He's out of the classroom as soon as the bell rings, and I seem unable to catch up. He's not at lunch, either. As time passes, I'm unable to think about anything else.

In the afternoon Herbology lesson, I help Neville with his project about "Soil pH role in the growth of Whomping Willow saplings from the seed" -- the seed collection proves itself challenging enough that I need to concentrate on the task at hand, but Neville's constant chirping about how wonderful Luna is does nothing to cheer me up. I'm happy for them, I really am. But still.

After collecting a vicious blow to the knee, enough seeds, and more than enough bruises, I do not even hope that Draco will attend dinner; I only want to lie down. This is why Hermione coaxes me to go to Madam Pomfrey to have my wounds attended, even if I claim it's not necessary and I only need a good night's sleep. Maybe wincing at every step refutes my words.

I'm high on painkiller potions, and as soon as I sprawl on the bed, my mind drifts to Draco. I hope he doesn't have a strongly shielded mind, because I'll try to send him thoughts of love tonight. If I do not pass out for sheer exhaustion, that is.

 

*

_Blaise is back. My impassive mask must have crumbled, because the first thing he asked me was if I was feeling unwell. Maybe breakfast was spiked with Veritaserum, because I told him everything. After getting an Unbreakable Vow that he wouldn't tell anybody about what I revealed, of course._

_He was actually quite effective in dispelling my feelings of suffocation and surrender._

_He said, "Think Slytherin, Draco, instead of moping around. Get what you want. You always do."_

_I heard Voldemort, once, bragging that he could use the famous scar to penetrate Potter's mind..._

 

*

**Tuesday 18-12-12**

In my dream, I kiss Draco.

His lips are as soft as I imagined, only warmer, silkier. One of his hands is tangled in my hair, stroking and caressing, the other is drawing small circles on my jaw and neck. His body is flush with mine. His tongue oh-so-gently parts my lips and, as I slowly caress it with mine, his eyes shine like stars.

I wake up feeling cherished, and hoping I managed to convey all this love to Draco through our bond.

 

*

I spend the whole Potions hour looking at Draco in what I hope is a subtle way.

Later, Professor Sprout docks me ten points when she catches me plucking the petals off a Dangerous Daisy with a dreamy expression.

Then I have to attend the Defence Against Dark Arts lesson, because the teacher thinks my experience will highlight the importance of mastering Expelliarmus and its efficacy as a defence. Professor Tonks -- Andromeda, as she insists I call her -- is a good teacher and a kind woman, but sometimes I'm still crept out by how much she looks like her deranged sister Bellatrix. Seeing her caring for little Teddy Lupin helps a bit in dispelling this impression.

As I enter the classroom, she's kissing Teddy on the top of his head before placing him carefully in Hagrid's hands. At first, I wasn't sure Hagrid was suited for babysitting, but it worked out fine. Dragons, Hippogriffs, Acromantulas, small children: nothing Hagrid can't handle.

The lesson goes well, I think, and every student is able to disarm me, even Draco. Could it be because I still taste his mouth in my mind?

 

*

**Wednesday 19-12-12**

In my dream, I see Draco naked.

He's sprawled on my bed, his hair spilled on my pillow like a pool of molten gold in the candle-light, a soft, inviting smile on his lips and a burning, longing gaze in his eyes. He licks his lips enticingly, blushing under my gaze. I can see almost every single inch of his creamy, glowing-from-the-inside skin. His blush blooms under my gaze as I take in every delicious bit of him. The broad shoulders. The nicely shaped muscles of his chest. Taut nipples. His strong arms, the Lion Constellation gleaming on the left one. His hipbones, jutting out in a shape where my hand would fit perfectly. His graceful hands, slowly stroking circles around his bellybutton. His legs, all long muscles and harmonious lines. His strong thighs, flowing to well-rounded calves and slim ankles. Even his feet are graceful.

Then he drops one leg and shows me everything. I've never seen another man's cock before. Well, I had glimpses in the Quidditch showers, but those do not count. Draco's is perfect and mouth-watering, somewhat longer than mine and a bit thinner, a shade darker than the rest of his skin. It lies twitching in a cloud of pale blond hair where I'd gladly burrow my face, growing harder as I stare. I have a sudden urge to take it into my hand, circle it and close my fingers around it. Kiss it, even.

Then Draco rises up, licking his lips, and stalks toward me with predatory grace. I'm still staring at the way his hard length bobs enticingly with each step, when he is suddenly so close that I can feel his body heat. His left hand lands on my left cheek, tracing my lips in a tantalizing caress. He starts unbuttoning my shirt, and only then I realize that I'm still fully clothed and that I need to feel his skin on mine more than I need to breathe. Also, that I've never been this hard, and that it almost hurts. Draco peels off my clothes with lingering touches that leave me tingling and needy. He carefully avoids straying toward my groin, though, as if he knows that even a graze would push me too far. As soon as I'm naked, he takes two steps back and circles me slowly, taking in my looks from all sides. He faces me again, soundlessly mouthing, "You're beautiful, Harry".

My alarm rings. My growl of frustration is so loud that Ron, still half asleep, mutters, "Lions in the dorm, we're under attack. Someone should send Lockhart forward to defend us!"

 

*

At breakfast, I find it difficult to swallow my food.

"Hey, mate, you alright?"

Ron is not the most observant of my friends, and if he's noticed something's amiss...

"Because, you know, you have to be in fit shape for the game..."

Ah, yes, today is Gryffindor versus Slytherin, the last match before the holidays. That's why Ron noticed. I hasten to reassure him.

"No worries, I'll still catch the Snitch before Malfoy does."

 

*

As the Quaffle is set free, I realize I cannot take my eyes off Draco. He rides his broom effortlessly, and I stare and stare at the way his muscles shift under his tight leathers.

I've never been clumsy on a broomstick before, but today, every speckle of gold I spot in the sky comes from Draco's hair. I do not even bother to look for the Golden Snitch.

I know my team mates are disappointed. Ron's making miracles, and we're ahead of Slytherin by 60 points: there's hope, if I concentrate.

Ginny flies beside me for a moment, yelling.

"Harry! Were you hit by a Bludger? You are the Seeker, for Merlin's baggy undergarments! Get a grip! Seek!"

I spot the Snitch the same moment Malfoy does. It buzzes halfway between him and me. We both go straight for it. This is my mistake. Draco's eyes are not focused on the Snitch. He's staring right into my eyes, his gaze unreadable. Then his face splits open in a huge grin, like the bursting of a Supernova. Hermione thinks I never studied Astronomy, but she's wrong.

I'm lost in the admiration of beauty, when Draco's right hand closes neatly on the Snitch.

 

*

**Thursday 20-12-12**

Yesterday, I was so humiliated for letting Malfoy win the game for Slytherin, I waited for my teammates to go away before entering the Quidditch shower room and taking off my clothes. This is what happened.

In my dream, I do the same, but there's a big difference. Draco is already under the shower, with water and soapy suds sliding down his gorgeous body. He's not looking in my direction. His arse is small and round, taut with muscles. I enter the spray and hug him, dotting his shoulder blades with open-mouthed kisses, pressing my hardness along his crack. I slide my hands around him, caressing his belly briefly before dipping lower. The feel of his erection in my hands is pure bliss, and I start stroking him. He moans softly and cranes his long neck onto my shoulder. We kiss greedily and with great amounts of tongue.

After a while, he spins me around and kneels gracefully, pressing his forehead on my left hipbone. I can't help but push my hips forward, and he engulfs me in the warmth of his mouth. He licks, sucks, nibbles, tastes, rolls his tongue and does unspeakable things to me. I'm fit to burst, when he cups my balls with one hand. I startle when I notice where his other hand is aiming to touch me, then his fingers graze the puckered skin and I am lost.

I wake up gasping like a landed fish. Let's hope the House Elfs doing the laundry won't notice the big wet stain on my linens.

So much for sending Draco images that will let him know he's wanted. I cannot even begin to count the ways I want him.

 

*

Lessons are over, and tomorrow we'll leave for the Burrow. We'll be back for the New Year's Eve party that Seamus absolutely wants to throw, so I only need to pack my gifts and some clothes. My trunk is ready after few minutes, leaving me plenty of time to muse about my last dream. I still feel strangely hollow, and I think I know what would make me whole again. Not in detail, maybe, but I know. Therefore, I go looking for Hermione.

She's in the library, putting together every book she thinks she'll need during the holidays. It's an impressive pile.

"Harry! I'm glad to see you here."

"I need your help, 'Mione."

"Sure thing. Do you want me to plan your homework for you? I could make you a colour-coded chart..."

"This is going to be embarrassing."

"Why? Everybody should use them! Colour-coded charts are very useful, and a good planning of your work will help you get better grades. Don't think I didn't notice your marks are dropping this year. You've been so distracted, lately... is it the bond thing?"

"Well, yes. I think the send-images-of-affection-towards-Malfoy is working, maybe, but I'm affected as well..."

"Do go on."

"This is definitely embarrassing. I dream about him doing _things_ to me I've never done before. I'm not a blushing virgin, 'Mione, but..."

She quirks an eyebrow.

"Not a blushing virgin, I said, _blushing_ being the operative word here. I mean... I roughly know how sex works, even between two guys, but..."

"But you want more information! You could have said it right away. Accio books I bought for Harry!"

Three tomes dart in the air and land on the desk. She pushes them in my direction. "Here, take these books! The first one is really helpful, but you may find the other two more interesting, I suppose."

I look at her in disbelief as she hands me _The Wizarding Guide To Magical Sex_ , a big volume titled _May I Use Your Wand? The complete guide to homosexual relationships for young wizards_ and _The Hedonistic Body Chart -- find every erogenous spot in your body with our exercises_.

"What?" she asks.

"When did you get these books? Real-life wizard moving pictures? Really, 'Mione?"

"I bought them last summer. I knew you would need them sooner or later."

I smile bashfully at her foresight. "Please don't let Ron know about this."

"Of course I won't. He wouldn't understand that I only read them for research purposes."

This startles me. "You read them? Are you kidding?"

"Well, they _are_ books, after all. Of course I read them. You'll find the picture on page 379 of _The Body Chart_ particularly interesting, I think." She points at the book.

My cheeks burn.

"Thank you, Hermione. I knew I could rely on you for this. Now, can you please do something to turn the covers into something less explicit?"

 

*

As soon as I'm back in my dorm after dinner, I cast a careful Silencing Charm and close the curtains, pretending to be asleep. I've never cracked a book open with such eagerness before.

The picture on page 379 shows a blond wizard bent over the back of a burgundy couch, and a dark-haired wizard with his face pressed against the other man's arse. I honestly do not know what they are doing. Then the pictures start to move, and the dark-haired man sticks out his tongue and plunges it squarely into the other man's hole. I'm so grossed out, I close the book.

After a minute, I re-open it. The dark-haired man is still intent on his work, licking and sucking and circling and dipping his tongue. I can almost hear the slurping sounds. He looks to be enjoying himself. The blond wizard looks ready to come undone. Or to come, period.

It still looks mighty unsanitary and plain _dirty_ , but I can't help wondering how such a thing would feel.

 

*

**Friday 21-12-12**

I don't have a word for the things that happen in my dream.

I am four-legged on a bed, over Draco's naked body, my face hovering just above his groin. As I touch the tip of my tongue to his burning flesh, his tongue slides wetly against my entrance. It makes me jump, but he doesn't relent, and after a while, I relax into the touch and heat starts pooling in my insides. As I swirl my tongue all around his shaft, his tongue traces maddening circles. As I take him into my mouth and start sucking him in earnest, he buries his tongue past the tight ring of muscles.

We both shudder. I swallow; a heart is painted on Draco's chest in sticky white ink.

 

*

After a quick breakfast, we're ready to go the Hogwarts Express. I don't know what Draco's plans for the holidays are, and I find myself looking frantically for the shine of his hair. Not being able to find it makes me twitchy and restless. I don't know why I'm searching for him; I doubt I'll have the guts to look into his eyes or talk to him after what went on in my dreams.

The train ride is quite cheerful nonetheless, and I'm glad to be surrounded by the voices of my friends. Ron and Ginny are working on Quidditch strategy: between the last game and all the docked points, Gryffindor's Rubies are low, and the next match will decide if we have any hope at winning the House Cup this year. Hermione is staying at the Burrow as well, and she fears that, now that she's Ron's girlfriend, it will be awkward and Mrs Weasley will treat her differently.

I do my best to reassure her.

As I predicted, Molly and Arthur's welcome is as warm as usual, and the day is spent in pleasant conversation. In the evening, it starts to snow.

 

*

**Saturday 22-12-12**

In my dream, I'm at Grimmauld Place.

The house is completely different from how I remember it. Gone are the darkness and the gloom. The old tapestry has been replaced with shell-white paint. The floors are pale wood, almost gleaming in the broad sunlight.

The furnishing is light-coloured and modern-looking; even I can see every piece of furniture has been crafted to be both comfortable and elegant. The kitchen is all white marble and silvery cupboards, with a peninsula surrounded by high stools, a tray of green apples set at one side. The living room could be featured on the cover of some house-design magazine. Gauze drapes shelter the big windows; the couch is the lightest shade of blue I've ever seen.

The bedroom is dominated by a huge bed with a padded, black leather headboard. The linen and comforter are pale lavender.

Every detail speaks of Draco's good taste.

Draco Apparates into the living room, and we end up snogging on the couch.

Draco cooks our dinner, and he looks silly in a frilled red apron.

Draco is enjoying his take-away pizza against all his expectation.

Draco casually strips in front of me, and my mouth goes dry.

I'm clumsily attempting to take off my clothes in a seductive way, putting on a show for Draco; his laughter is slowly replaced by something else, and his eyes darken with desire.

I run a bath for him; he sinks into the hot water with a contented sigh. I massage his shoulders and wash his hair with sweet-shrub-scented shampoo.

Draco dries his hair with a towel, standing carelessly naked in front of a mirror. I take him between my lips and utterly enjoy the sensation of him growing harder and filling my mouth, my hands splayed over his round, perfect arse, each cheek snugly fitting into my palm.

Draco cards through my messy hair with his fingers, complaining it's impossible to set right, but secretly liking it.

Draco takes a shower with me; we carefully wash each other's bits. We lean one against the other, our soapy cocks sliding together; my hand closes around both, stroking us to completion.

We brush our teeth in front of the mirror, sharing mint-flavoured kisses afterwards.

We roll on the bed naked and laughing, tickling each other.

We kiss goodnight a hundred thousand times.

I lay spooned against Draco's back, cupping his bits, because I can.

Draco is asleep with my shoulder as a pillow, with an arm thrown across my chest, his legs tangled in mine.

I wake up in the middle of the night, and I snuggle closer to Draco's warm body, his calm breath lulling me back to sleep.

I wake up with Draco spooning me, his morning hardness pressed between my arse-cheeks.

I wake up alone. A naked Draco arrives with a tray, and we have breakfast in bed.

We share hot chocolate after a snow fight in our garden.

Our garden? Maybe we are not in Grimmauld Place at all.

 

*

I wake up late in the morning, feeling unusually content.

For today, we plan a trip to London, both Wizarding and Muggle, for last-minute gift shopping.

With Hermione's help, I choose a Muggle book about magical tricks for George: I'm sure he'll find it silly at first, and then it will give him ideas.

For Arthur, we have to visit a big department store, but in the end I'm satisfied with the collection of instruction manuals of "Muggle contraptions" such as ovens, bread-toasters, wash-machines, dishwashers, and food processors that I'm going to give him.

Molly will receive a brand new set of self-cleaning cooking cauldrons, the latest arrival at Potage's Cauldron Shop.

Finding a suitable gift for Bill and Fleur is the hardest: after ineffectively perusing every shop, we settle for a photo album. Since Fleur is expecting, they can use it to collect pictures of the baby.

Knowing the mail traffic will be at its highest in the next few days, we make a detour to the Owl Post Office to be sure that our other friends will receive their gifts in time.

To Hagrid, we send a voucher including a Portkey trip to Romania and back, a weekly stay at the Dragon Reserve where Charlie works and a ticket for the new Pet-A-Dragon experience.

The toy broom I purchased for little Teddy Lupin is sent with a fine stack of Potion ingredients: with this, I hope to mollify Andromeda, who probably won't think a toddler needs a broom, but who likes to experiment with Healing Potions.

Neville's gift is a pound of seeds of the Purple Suffering Crocus, a rare flower whose dried stigmas are used to ease mental pain, or to cook rice, I can't remember. It was the most expensive plant I could find, and according to Professor Sprout, Neville's always wanted to test its properties.

For Luna, we got a set of My-Little-Pony hairpins, glittery and colourful: Ginny is sure she'll be delighted with them.

 

*

Afterward, we stop at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes to pick up George.

He's not ready to leave yet, so I spend some time checking the new merchandise. In a secluded corner of the shop, I spot a bright red velvet box with a gold inscription stating that it is a _Ride Me -- Gift Set for Broom-Handle Lovers_. Thinking it could make a nice gift for Ron, I pick it up to read about its contents.

"This amazing Gift Set contains:

    * an honey-flavoured candle that melts into massage oil, edible



 

    * a big jar of honey-flavoured lube, edible



 

    * the patented Weasley's Bruise Removing Paste



 

  * a soothing balm made with extracts of Helichrysum, Butcher's Broom, and St. John's Wort



  
Let your lover ride you up to cloud number nine!"

"Found something to your liking?"

George's voice startles me into almost dropping the box on my foot, and his laughter booms.

I really thought it was a kit for the care of brooms.

We spend the evening decorating the huge Christmas tree Arthur chopped down while we were shopping. When we're done, it is so loaded with ornaments that it's almost impossible to spot the actual tree; fairy lights shine in so many different colours, even I can tell they clash. It's beautiful, nonetheless.

I toss and turn in my guest bed, trying not to listen to Ron's snores -- I should be used to them.

Since sleep eludes me despite my tiredness, I read a bit of the books Hermione gave me, and my mind soon wanders off to the contents of the gift box I saw this afternoon. I've never thought about what it would really entail for a man to be taken by another man, and neither the books nor the contents of the box make it seem like a pleasant thing. If people do it and enjoys it, it can't be that bad. Still, words like "preparation" and "proper lubrication" have a menacing sound.

 

*

**Sunday 23-12-12**

In my dream, Draco's hands are everywhere.

I am lying flat on my belly with a very naked and very aroused Draco straddling my waist. He's dripping warm massage oil on my back, carefully massaging it into my skin. He kneads my muscles carefully, dissolving the knots in my shoulders, slowly moving lower and shifting his weight towards my thighs, working every knob of my spine with hypnotizing touches. As he reaches the small of my back, he starts drawing soothing circles with the flat of his hand. I'm utterly relaxed, so I do not feel alarmed at all when he dips even lower, entering me with a careful fingertip. He strokes and caresses slowly, spreading the oil; I'm so slick that his finger plunges easily inside, up to the last knuckle. He grazes something inside me, and I shudder; suddenly, his invasion is very welcome, and I spread my legs further and raise my hips off the bed, begging for more. He adds a second finger. It's too much. It's not nearly enough.

A loud moan awakens me. It came from me. I've never been this hard before, nor have I ever felt this hollow. I roll on the bed to lie on my belly, and I wet the middle finger of my left hand with saliva. I place the slick finger on my already twitching opening and carefully slide it inside. I meet some resistance, but push forward nonetheless. My insides are silky and burning hot. The sensation of my muscles gripping and clenching around my finger is overwhelming. I start pumping it in and out, as fast as I dare; my erection is trapped under me, rubbing against the mattress. Orgasm is quick and explosive.

Afterwards, I sleep like the dead.

 

*

When I go to breakfast in the morning, Molly is already cooking. Apparently, it snowed really hard last night, and the ground is blanketed in white. Ginny and Ron are busying themselves making an army of snowmen, while Hermione Transfigures eyes and noses for them from sticks and stones.

I join in the fun.

George pops up suddenly and points at a straw-haired snowman huddled close to a coal-haired, musky-eyed one with a lightning bolt on his forehead.

"Like this pair? Don't you find the likeness is staggering?"

"I don't have the scar anymore, you dolt."

"You're not protesting about being paired up with Malfoy, though."

I throw a snowball at him, and, luckily, it hits inside his collar. He yelps.

A snow-fight follows.

Later, Hermione insists that we should do our homework, but my mind keeps wandering. After two hours of fidgeting on the chair, not writing my Herbology essay, Hermione takes pity on me and Accioes _The Hedonistic Body Chart_ , which she dissimulated to look like Potions' textbook. I lose myself between new pieces of information and remembered dreams, and, all the while, it looks like I'm studying Potions with the utmost concentration.

Ron is flabbergasted.

 

*

**Monday 24-12-12**

In my dream, impossible things happen.

I enter the Great Hall, hand in hand with Draco, and everybody acts like it's perfectly normal.

After a Quidditch game, I land with the Snitch in my hand; Draco runs towards me, hugs me fiercely, and snogs me senseless. Professor McGonagall cheers. About the kiss or the game, it's not clear.

The ghosts of my parents whisper that they're proud of the man I've become and of the man I chose.

Dumbledore and Snape peek from a frame in the corridor, congratulating Draco and me for being lovers.

I am at the Manor, having tea with a witty and pleasant Narcissa Malfoy.

I am at the Manor, cuddling with Draco on a couch; his father enters the room and winks at me, looking extremely pleased.

This last image startles me so much that I wake up.

I've never had such a surreal dream before.

 

*

The day is spent like every Christmas Eve at the Burrow.

After a rich breakfast, we are off to de-gnome the garden. Finding the first one is hard. After we've thrown three or four of them over the fence, the others start to peek out from their holes to see what is happening. The snow covering the ground makes their leathery heads more visible than usual, and the gnomes are quickly taken care of.

After lunch, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur arrive. A Ministry Owl brings a card from Percy, with his seasonal greetings and his apologies for not being able to be home this year due to urgent Ministerial matters. Apparently, Shacklebolt was able to regain Percy's trust in the Ministry.

In the afternoon, we play the usual family Quidditch match, while Molly finishes the preparations for dinner and Hermione helps her set the table.

The meal is lavish. For starters, we have toasted bread with smoked salmon, prawn skewers, octopus salad, and deep fried squids. Two different kinds of soup follow: a creamy potato and leek soup and a lovely mushroom soup with croutons. The main course is a huge capon, filled with chestnuts and cream, and with it come side dishes of stewed peas, steamed baby carrots with butter, and roasted potatoes.

All during the dinner, we chat about Hogwarts, dragons, newborn babies, Muggles, and food.

It's good to feel part of a family.

After the dessert -- a huge Pumpkin Pudding -- Fleur claims to be tired and retires for the night, closely followed by a worried Bill.

Arthur and Molly wait until midnight before retiring, because they want to wish their children a Merry Christmas on the first minute of the day. Being counted among their children warms my heart, and I can see from Hermione's face that she's elated as well.

 

*

**Tuesday 25-12-12**

I'm headed towards my bedroom when Ginny, Hermione, Ron, George, and Charlie stop me. They wear mischievous grins as they hand me a present.

"Thank you, guys, but isn't it too early for exchanging gifts?"

Charlie smirks. "You should be grateful..."

"Trust me, Harry..." Ron says.

"They're right, this time," adds Hermione.

Ginny clarifies. "You do not want to open it in front of my parents."

"Put it to good use!" George yells.

They storm away, and I sit on the bed with the parcel in my hands. What they said suddenly makes sense when I rip off the gift-paper, revealing the blasted _Gift Set for Broom-Handle Lovers._

 

*

I wake up from a dreamless sleep to Ginny's high-pitched call; apparently, they are waiting for me to start opening the gifts. I hastily dress up and meet them downstairs.

As soon as I arrive, every present floats to its intended receiver.

Everybody gets one of Molly's knitted goods: mine is a dark purple sweater with an emerald green H on the front. Ron's sweater is a nasty shade of orange that makes him look like a walking banner of his favourite Quidditch team. He states it's the best present he could have gotten, and only changes his mind when he opens my gift: a signed copy of the latest book written by the Seeker of the Chudley Cannons.

Hermione is happily trying out her set of self-inking quills on stray pieces of gift-paper when I open her gift. It comes with a note, which reads, "Courting a Malfoy needs the proper attire"; the box contains grey silk pyjamas.

Both Arthur and Molly seem pleased with my presents. Molly coos at the cleverness of the self-cleaning spell integrated in the cauldrons; Arthur starts to read his instruction manuals immediately, mumbling "Fascinating" between himself at every new page he turns.

Ginny states her dragon-hide gloves fit perfectly, and they will allow her a better grip than her old ones did.

She almost goes unnoticed, because Charlie is trying on his new dragon-hide coat: it hugs his muscular body and reaches his ankles. He looks dark and dangerous, and even Hermione is staring open-mouthed. Ron sticks his elbow in her ribcage, hard, purposefully, and she pecks him on the lips. George whistles.

A soft hoot makes me jump on my seat as a magnificent Barn Owl swoops silently inside the room and lands on my arm.

Molly smiles at me. "Harry, dear. We know no owl will ever replace poor Hedwig in your heart, but we think it's time for you to have a new pet."

I swallow the lump in my throat. The Barn Owl is beautiful, and stares at me with dark grey eyes on a heart-shaped face.

"Maybe you can name him Tyto, from the scientific name of the barn owl..."

My new pet doesn't like Hermione's suggestion, though, and makes it clear by clawing my wrist.

Quickly, Molly explains why.

"It's a female, Hermione, dear."

"Well then, why not Alba? Same reason as before."

I ponder her suggestion. "And it sounds like the feminine of Albus. Yes, I like it."

Alba likes it as well, if the way she coos is any indication.

After a rich lunch of leftovers, we go for a stroll in the snow, bringing Alba with us; she may be nocturnal, but seems to enjoy a flight all the same.

As soon as we're out of the house, Ginny starts teasing me. "So, what did you buy for Draco?"

"Nothing. Should I have bought him something?"

Even Ron looks scandalized at my question. "Blimey, Harry! You're trying to woo the git and didn't send him a gift? Even I know that's bad manners."

"I _did_ think about getting him a present. Trouble is, I doubted it was possible for me to break into the Manor and chain myself naked to his bed."

Everybody is startled into silence. I explain further.

"I'd never be able to guess which one Draco's room was. What if Draco didn't go home at all? I don't know what would have been worst. Being found there by him and being laughed at? Being found by his parents and being killed by the awkwardness and shame? Being found by some house elf, dead of starvation?"

Hermione's practical sense kicks in. "Don't be silly, Harry. You would have died of thirst long before that."

"I would have cast Aguamenti."

"Where, on the pillow?"

At this point, Ron catches up. "Stop it, you two! Mate, you're not talking seriously, are you?"

"Don't worry, I was only joking."

Ginny's not convinced. "I still think you should send him something."

"What can I possibly give him? The spoiled git owns everything already."

"Not things that he can buy, then," she suggests.

"I doubt he would like it were I to send him my heart on a silver platter."

Ginny is nothing but persistent. "You could at least send him a note!"

"I'm clumsy with words, you know."

Hermione and Ginny nod resignedly. Hermione's the one who asks the million dollars question: "What are you going to do then? Wait for him to make the first move?"

"Excellent idea."

I close the conversation and turn away, following Alba's pale, golden shape as she leaps and swoops.

 

*

I'm in the bathroom washing my hands before dinner when the loud crack of Apparition makes me splash water all over my clothes.

"Sorry if I scared you, Master Potter, sir. Kreacher wishes you a merry Christmas. Kreacher was renovating at Grimmauld Place, sir, and throwing away old and ugly things. Kreacher hopes Master will be pleased, sir. Kreacher found this in Master Sirius' chambers. It may be useful to Master Potter."

Before I can say anything, he shoves a parcel into my wet hands and Disapparates away.

Inside the parcel, I find a tattered notebook, written in Sirius's slanted handwriting. My heart leaps with the joy at having what seems to be his diary in my hands. The book is titled _Useful Spells for the Bedchamber_ , and I stare at it in disbelief. It's difficult to think Sirius ever used spells for folding linens and dusting bedside tables. When I start leafing through the pages, I stare at the notebook in even more disbelief. Apparently, Sirius had a use for two muscle-relaxing spells, for a stretching charm, and for ten different ways to conjure lube.

 

*

**Wednesday 26-12-12**

In my dream, Draco makes love to me.

It is magical, mystical. Our Constellation Marks start shining at the first kiss we share.

Rose petals are crushed under my weight as I spread everything -- arms, legs, heart, mind -- to welcome Draco in. I'm more than ready, and he slides inside me effortlessly. There's no pain; it's as though my body was made for receiving his. He makes me whole, in every possible way. I know he feels the same.

He moves his hips in tantalizing slowness, caressing my insides and making me crave for more. Having him slide out is torture; the gentle inward push is pure bliss. His eyes burn with unutterable tenderness, with unadulterated love. His mouth is at its sweetest.

This is what being bonded to him really means.

Words tumble out of Draco's mouth, whispered into my mouth.

"With this candle, I take you as mine. It's untraditional to pledge one's affections through a candle of flesh, I'm aware of that. But this candle will always burn for you. It will always keep you warm. Maybe it won't be possible for you to light it every day, but the sensation of having it burning inside you will never leave you. This is how I love you."

In answer, words tumble out of my mouth, whispered into his mouth.

"With this ring, I take you as mine. It's untraditional to pledge one's affections through a ring of muscles, I'm aware of that. But this ring will always fit you. It won't tarnish. Maybe it won't be possible for you to wear it every day, but the sensation of having it clenched around you will never leave you. This is how I love you."

In the sparkle of stars and shared breath, as we shudder to completion in each other's arms, I'm sure no wedding ceremony ever felt this right.

I wake up with a new resolution: I will talk to Draco as soon as we're both back in Hogwarts, confess what I feel for him, and ask him to be my boyfriend, my lover. Ask him to be mine. With luck, this won't need more guts than walking into the Forbidden Forest to my death.

 

*

_He didn't send me a gift, not even a note._

_He's ignoring me. The Weasleys might be poor, but they_ do _own an owl. If Potter didn't send me anything, it could only mean that my strategy wasn't as effective as I'd hoped._

_I gave Harry all my desires, without shame, without holding back. I gave him everything, in the privacy of shared minds. If he was able to ignore it altogether..._

_Clinging to hope when there's no ground for hope is a foolish thing. It's for Hufflepuffs and maybe for Gryffindors, but definitely not for Slytherins._

_I should have known better than to put my heart at stake._

_I should have known that my plans never work._

_I do not need a lover; I do not need to be loved. I've survived until now without such a commodity: I can keep on doing so. Severus did. I have books, I have Potions, I have Magic. I have my skill. I have myself. This will suffice._

_I must let Potter go._

_I'll confront him once again, the last day of the year._

_After that, I'll forget about him. After that, I'll ask Blaise to Obliviate me; it may, after all, be the only way._

 

*

**Thursday 27-12-12**

In my dream, I'm facing Voldemort again.

Draco is safe with his parents. I destroy Voldemort. Draco runs towards me. We fall on the ground and hug, gripping each other hard enough to bruise. We kiss.

Draco is fighting at my side. Together, we destroy Voldemort. We kiss.

Draco throws himself in front of the Killing Curse. He dies for me.

I scream.

 

*

In the morning, I make an effort not to spoil the last day at the Burrow with my bad mood. I'm not particularly good at it.

As soon as I'm downstairs, Molly gives me a hug, a tea with too much sugar, and some chocolate.

I can see they are worried about me. I try to convince them -- and myself -- it was only bad dreams, but nothing seems to dispel the gloom.

George says I'm entitled to have nightmares after everything I've been through. It only makes me feel worse. _Draco_ was in my nightmare. He's never appeared in my nightmares before; I fear something bad happened to him.

After a quick breakfast, we travel back to Hogwarts.

As soon as we're on school grounds, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

 

*

**Friday 28-12-12**

In my dream, the Fiendfyre roars.

I fly towards Draco, taking his hand. I save him. We kiss.

I fly towards Draco, but his hand is sweaty. He falls. I try to rescue him but fail. I let myself fall at his side. As the flames eat us alive, we kiss.

I fly towards Draco, but his hand is sweaty. He falls. I leave him behind to save myself.

I fly towards the exit. Draco burns.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

My friends find me in the common room, huddled in front of the fireplace, staring blankly at the ashes.

Ron places a hand on my shoulder, "Another nightmare, mate? Spill."

Hermione sits beside me and takes my hand. "Ron is right, you may find comfort in unburdening your mind and sharing it with us."

I tell them my dream.

"Harry, it's just your subconscious catching up with everything. You should see a Mind-Healer, as I suggested right after the war. No-one can go unscathed through what you had to deal with."

Trust Hermione to reassure and scold in the same sentence.

Ron is still puzzled, though. "I don't understand. If you dreamed of the Ferret kissing you and everything, it wasn't so bad. Wait, that came out wrong. I mean..."

"No, it was awful. The despair, the suffocating sadness... it was like being surrounded by Dementors, like happiness never existed in the world at all."

Something is pushed in my hand, and I lift my face to see Neville's concerned expression.

"Here, Harry, take some chocolate."

"Thanks, Nev."

Ron tries to comfort me. "After all, it was only a dream, a mangled vision of the past. In real life, you saved the Ferret. He is safe. He'll be at Hogwarts soon."

Ginny enters the room, still rubbing her eyes.

"Harry, what's up?"

"Nightmare. With Draco."

"Why are you this upset?" She goes straight to the point. "You've never been so bad after your nightmares before. Is it the first time you dreamt about Draco?"

"No, actually. It was the second nightmare in which..."

"But I bet you've had good dreams with him as well... naughty ones maybe?"

I blush at Ginny's question.

"You'll tell me about them later. In detail," she adds mischievously. "However, unless you sneaked out of the Burrow to secretly meet with him..."

"You know I didn't."

"...then they were only dreams, figments of your imagination. So is your nightmare. Think of your happy dreams instead. I'll help you woo Malfoy as soon as he arrives. Promise."

I'm starting to feel a bit better, when Hermione's question startles me. "What if it wasn't Harry's nightmare at all?"

"What do you mean, 'Mione?"

"Aren't you bound to Malfoy?" I nod, and she goes on. "What if the nightmares leaked from his mind instead? I bet he's still having nightmares. He lived with Voldemort in his house, after all."

Ron tries to twist this idea into something reassuring. "See, mate? Maybe he's having bad dreams, but I'm sure he's fine."

I suppose it's possible. I'm sharing Draco's nightmares. I hope this makes them more bearable for him. If it is so, I can suffer through them for his sake.

I hope he'll be here soon.

The day is spent doing homework and plotting with Seamus for the party. I stay in a corner trying to look happier than I am.

Every hour, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

 

*

**Saturday 29-12-12**

In my dream, I find Draco crying in the bathroom.

I hug him. He smiles. We kiss.

I curse him. His blood spills. I heal him. We kiss.

He tries to curse me. I curse him. Snape heals him. We kiss.

He curses me. I curse him. His blood spills. He dies.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

Since I'm still having nightmares, Hermione tries to persuade me to go to Professor McGonagall. This supposed connection to Draco's mind may be dangerous, she says, and maybe the Professor can help me managing the visions.

I do not want to go.

Her other brilliant idea is to empty my memories of the nightmares in a Pensieve: she claims I won't be plagued by sadness if the thoughts causing it are removed.

I do not want to do it.

In the end, she stops nagging me and goes on spellchecking Ron's essays.

I try to focus my mind on the kissing part of my dreams, but the elation and the awakening of senses that I felt with the dreams of being intimate with Draco behave like a cursed Golden Snitch: impossible to touch, forever out of my reach.

Ginny tries to keep me company as I mope and pine and worry; after a while, even she can't take it anymore and goes looking for Seamus with game ideas for the party.

Every hour, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

 

*

**Sunday 30-12-12**

In my dream, the Snatchers bring me to Malfoy Manor.

Draco lies. At the last minute, I grab his hand. We land on the shore. We kiss.

Draco lies. At the last minute, I grab his hand. Bellatrix's dagger sticks out of his chest. We kiss. He dies in my arms.

Draco gives me away. I die.

Draco lies. I land on the shore.

Draco lies. Bellatrix kills him.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

Hermione drags me to the Infirmary. She at least has the sense to keep her theories of nightmare-leakage to herself and only says I'm plagued by bad dreams, so Madam Pomfrey doesn't know what ails me for sure. She gives me a vial of the Draught of Peace and makes me swallow it.

It makes me feel oddly detached from the core of my feelings.

Seamus tries to engross me in the planning of the big party.

He says, proudly, that Professor McGonagall has given her authorization to hold the party in the Room of Requirement, since the event will promote inter-House unity, under the condition that only Eighth Years will be admitted. He sounds like he's quoting her words literally. Apparently, an exception to the Eighth-Years-only rule has been made for Ginny: I don't know how she managed that.

Seamus is really proud that his little project is going well, and he wants us all to help him decorate the Room of Requirement.

I do my best hanging paper wreaths and bits of mistletoe.

I wonder if I'll find myself with Draco underneath some mistletoe... if I'll ever kiss him. I hope I will.

Every hour, I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

When it's time for bed, Hermione gives me a vial of Dreamless Draught. I don't know if Madam Pomfrey gave it to her or if she brewed it or stole it, nor do I care. She knows it's not a cure, but she thinks I need to get some rest.

I thank her for her concern. As soon as she leaves, I flush the content of the vial down the toilet. If the nightmares are the only connection to Draco that I've got, I won't risk losing it. At least in the nightmares, I get to see him.

 

*

**Monday 31-12-12**

In my dream, we're on the Astronomy Tower.

I reveal myself to Draco. He lowers his wand. We fight together. We kiss.

I stay hidden. Draco lowers his wand. The Death-Eaters kill him. I cry.

I reveal myself to Draco. He kills Dumbledore. I kill him.

I reveal myself to Draco. He kills me.

I reveal myself to Draco. He walks towards me. His eyes are wet. He kisses me. He lets himself fall.

I scream.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is not there.

Everything is set for tonight, and I'm not in the mood for a party.

Hermione is a bit angry with me; the dark smudges under my eyes tell her loudly that I didn't sleep well.

"Harry! Say that Draco will be spending all the holidays with his parents and only be back for the beginning of the next term. What are you going to do? Kill yourself for lack of sleep?"

"Do not listen to her, Harry," advises Ginny. "Say he'll be back tomorrow. How do you plan to seduce him if you look like a walking dead raccoon?"

Sometimes, Ginny is more persuasive than Hermione.

I agree to try having a nap in the afternoon.

In the meantime, I go with them to the kitchen: we have to consult with the House Elfs on the menu for tonight.

I check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name is still not there.

I had hoped he would attend the party. I know his friend Blaise will.

Following Ginny's advice -- I lie down and try to rest. As soon as I close my eyes, I see Draco.

He looks at me over his shoulder. His face is set in finality. His gaze is full of longing. Then he squares his shoulders and walks away.

He's eleven. He's fifteen. He's twenty. He'll be gorgeous at twenty. Hell, he's gorgeous now as well.

He walks away from me.

This time I do not scream. I curl up in a ball and try to swallow my tears.

 

*

Ron drags me to the party. He does not much care for parties and confesses he had hoped for a night of intimacy with Hermione.

I nibble on a Chocolate Frog, but I'm not really hungry. The music is too loud; the lights are too vivid. I need more air. No one will miss me.

I sneak away, and as soon as I'm out of the Room, I hide in a secluded niche and check the Marauder's Map: Draco's name appears under my eyes.

Relief fills me, and I start walking towards the Astronomy Tower.

Suddenly, I find myself on the last step of the staircase leading to the Tower.

Draco is leaning on the parapet, gazing at the stars. The sleeve of his left arm is rolled up, baring the Constellation Mark. My footsteps are loud, and he turns to face me.

He looks tired, and his features are set, as if he has just made some painful decision.

I suppress the urge to run to him and hug him fiercely. Or maybe I'm scared of what he would do if I did.

"Listen, Draco, I..."

"No, Potter. You listen. You are un-Malfoying-me."

"What?" I instantly deny his accusation. "I'm doing nothing to you!"

"Malfoys never allow their feelings to weaken them. Malfoys never show affection. Malfoys aren't ruled by their heart. Malfoys do not pine; Malfoys do not yearn for anybody. Malfoys get what they want. You are un-Malfoying me. I think of you every single second of my day. I'm obsessed with you. I may have been nasty to you in the past, but none of my ill-fated attempts to catch your attention..."

I interrupt him quickly. "Draco, you _have_ my attention..."

"I'm not finished yet. I've been in love with you since... forever, really. We are bonded, but I'm not closer to you. I've not been able to make you love me back. I tried with the best of my skill. Malfoys are masters in making other people desire them. I sent my every bit of seduction towards you. It didn't work. You are not craving my touch. I should have known: you are too much of a Gryffindor, too much a pure soul. I sent you my desire, but you have no use for it. You rejected it, as you've always rejected me. I gave you my desires; you answered me with nightmares. I failed. I won't summon you again. Should you wish for it, we'll use the knives to rescind our bond. You'll be forever free from me. Please, go away now."

A Petrificus Totalus wouldn't have had a different effect on me than his little speech does. I stare at him, not knowing what to do. He doesn't take it well, and yells at me.

"Get out, Potter! Go away! You shall not see me cry another time!"

There's something wild in his eyes, a burning grey fire. It thaws me. My brain is such a puddle that I'm unable to string words together. What I'm able to do -- and I curse myself for not doing this earlier -- is stride to him and gather him into my arms, hugging him so tightly, my muscles tremble. He tries to recoil, but I do not let him go, and after a while, he subsides, relaxing into my arms.

My neck feels suddenly wet where he's hiding his face, and I realize this is not one of my dreams, not one of the images I tried to send towards him through our Marks: this is real. Draco Malfoy, blurting out that he loves me. Draco Malfoy, cradled in my arms at last. Draco Malfoy, crying on me because he thinks I do not love him. This is real.

I raise a hand to pet his hair and back soothingly, and he seems to melt into the touch.

"Draco, how can you think I'm not interested in you? You've always managed to get under my skin. You got into my heart as well, without me even noticing. I fell for you, heavily, like a Seeker attempting a Wronsky Feint and failing. I _do_ love you, you know."

He looks at me then, and his watery smile is the single most beautiful thing I've ever seen. His bottom lip is still quivering, and his eyes are liquid silver. His hand is on my cheek, and time stops altogether as his face closes the distance and his lips touch mine.

I slip my arms around his waist and melt into the kiss. I've dreamt of this what, a gazillion times? And yet, no dream can compare.

Our first kiss is salty with his tears and sweet with the taste of Chocolate Frogs. My glasses bump on his nose several times before Draco removes them and throws them carelessly away. When he tries to slide his tongue into my mouth, I am so surprised that I almost bite it in reflex. I am so eager to taste the inside of his mouth that my front teeth clash painfully against his. It's a messy kiss, a messily perfect kiss. A perfect kiss.

We resurface breathing hard and open eyes that struggle to believe what just happened is real, and my two, still-working brain-cells connect.

"Draco, what did you mean when you said you sent me seduction?"

"The dreams. I sent you my dreams, Harry. Didn't you dream about me doing, erm, things to you? About my body pressed against, inside, your body? About desire?"

"Yes, I dreamed a lot of, erm, things, and your body and everything. But those were _my_ dreams, dreams of love and affection that I was sending to _you_ , to let you know my feelings, not the other way around."

"Definitely the other way around. Those were _my_ fantasies. As if your pure Gryffindor mind would have imagined those things all alone!"

"You'll find out I'm not as pure as you think I am. Besides, I had some help..."

"What? Who? Whom do I have to kill for daring to touch you? You are mine, Potter, and mine alone. Do you understand? Say it."

"Of course I am, Draco. All yours. I'm even marked with your freaking Constellation! As I was saying, I had help. Hermione gave me books, you know. And by the way, you are. Mine. As well."

"Granger gave you books? About what, gay wizard sex?"

"Erm, yes?"

"I'm impressed. Let's not talk about Granger. Come here, you."

We kiss again, and I see fireworks.

It takes us both a moment to realise actual fireworks are exploding all around us.

 

*

**Tuesday 01-01-2013**

The New Year begins the same way the old year just ended: with me and Draco kissing each other.

His mouth blooming open under mine is pure heaven, and it heals all of my nightmare-inflicted wounds. Which reminds me...

"Draco."

"Mmmh?"

"What you said before, about me sending you nightmares, do you really think..."

"I do." Draco cuts me out. "I dreamed of killing you, of you killing me, of you leaving me, of you not wanting me..."

"You sent me seduction, you said. I tried to send you love." I kiss him quickly on the lips, amazed to have the right to do so. "I never wanted you to have nightmares. I think you also sent me your fears."

"Maybe we shared." Draco considers the idea for a while, eyeing me speculatively. "If our minds are linked and can pass images through our bond..."

" ...you think we made up those visions together, the pleasant and the angsty dreams alike?"

"Basically, yes."

"So when we had the first nightmares..."

He interrupts me again, "I had just decided to let you go."

"Never do that, Draco. Don't you ever dare leave me! I love you."

"Oh, you're such a Hufflepuff."

"Draco."

"Potter."

"Draco."

"I love you too, Harry. You've seen how much."

After some more kissing, we decide to go back to the party. After all, I left without a word: considering the state I've been in the last few days, my friends will be worried.

We enter the Room holding hands.

As soon as she sees us, Ginny winks.

"Hey, Harry! I see Malfoy is back. Did you slip Amortentia in his glass, or is it for real?"

"It is for very real." Draco answers her with his best glacial tone, then proceeds to snog me so thoroughly I feel he's trying to fish my heart out of my mouth. He's quite successful at it.

Ginny stares, and then hugs Draco briefly, to his astonishment.

"I'm glad you two got together at last. Harry deserves to be happy, and he's been insufferable lately. Hurt him, and I'll have your balls for breakfast. On a skewer. By the way, your friend is hot. Care to introduce us?"

And she waves her hand towards Zabini, who is currently talking with Dean by the sandwich tray.

 

*

_It turns out Harry loves me._

_I shouldn't be surprised, really._

_Malfoys always get what they want, and I've wanted him so much, for so long._

 

*

This party is wonderful. _Draco_ is wonderful.

He introduced Ginny to his friend Blaise, and she's been glued to his side all night. Zabini looks down at her in what seems like disdain, but Draco assures me it means he's interested.

Seamus plays the DJ: he's quite good at it, and mercifully avoids Celestina Warbeck's songs.

When he announces a song by a Muggle band I've never heard of before, Draco smiles.

"You don't know how many times I've listened to this song trying to avoid thinking about you... It's been written for us, I think."

I suppress a smile, trying to hide my surprise. Pureblood Draco Malfoy swooning over a Muggle song? Unbelievable! As unbelievable as the idea of pureblood Draco Malfoy in love with me. Yet he is. And he's singing into my ear, in tune with the record, his hot breath making me shiver.

Both the lyrics and Draco's voice are beautiful and full of yearning and hope. There's a bit about entering one's soul, about being hidden in one's soul: it really seems written for us.

Still singing, he takes me into his arms, dragging me towards the dance floor.

"Draco, I can't dance."

"I can, for both of us."

In the end we just stand swaying on the spot, pressed up into each other's body, as he runs his hands up and down my back, caresses my face, and leans down to kiss me. I'll never get tired of his mouth.

It's almost sunrise when the party comes to an end and everyone goes to the dorms to get some sleep.

Draco walks me to Gryffindor Tower. I do not want to let him go, but neither of us wants to get a detention. His last kiss is so deep and so hot, the Fat Lady has to cover her eyes.

 

*

In my dream, I feel warm. I feel loved. Draco lies beside me, spooning me. He caresses my face, moving my rebellious hair away, and kisses my Dragon Scar.

I open my eyes and blink unfocusedly. Not trusting my eyesight, I fumble for my glasses, and I put them on quickly. Nothing changes: Draco's soft silver eyes are still fixed on my face.

"Morning, my love, although it's technically afternoon. Did you sleep well?"

A kiss is placed on my surprised lips. I smile like a loon.

"Draco? How...? When...?"

"Since mid-day. I met your Weasel in the Great Hall, stuffing himself with food at lunch. He allowed me in. I like to watch you sleep."

I blush. We kiss.

I could easily get used to being roused like this.

A loud knock and a yell startle us out of a very long kiss.

"Hey, mate! If you're sucking face with the Ferret, stop it now! I'm coming in!"

Immediately after, Ron opens the door.

"How charming you are with words, Weasel..." Draco sounds unperturbed, his mouth still lingering close to mine.

"Shut up, Ferret! I'll suffer you for Harry's sake, but I don't like you."

I think it best to stop them from insulting each other like this.

"Ron, don't be rude. What are you looking for?"

"My chessboard."

"Hermione hid it underneath your school books," I let him know. "She said you'd never find it there."

Draco's voice drips surprise, "Chessboard? Are you intelligent enough as to play chess?"

"Draco, please! Ron is my best friend. Of course he can play: why do you think Hermione hid the set?"

Draco shrugs his shoulders. "Bored of defeating him, I suppose."

Ron grins broadly. "Bored of getting smashed, more likely."

"I find it hard to believe you are able to master the game." Draco taunts him.

"I dare you, Ferret. Come down, you two, enough with the snogging."

 

*

Hermione's grimace upon seeing the chessboard in Ron's hands dissolves as Draco and I enter the common room in his wake.

While Draco and Ron place the pieces and begin the game with the amazing strategy of making the opponent lose concentration with random insults, I sit by Hermione's chair. She eyes the game preparations dubiously. "Are you sure you're willing to let your newly acquired boyfriend be defeated by Ron?"

"Yes..."

She jumps on my hesitation, mistaking it. "Because he _is_ your boyfriend now, am I right? He's not going to deny..."

"Hermione! Of course not! He kissed me in front of everybody at the party!"

"But are you sure he won't ascribe it to drunkenness and keep your relationship hidden like some sort of dirty secret..."

Apparently, Draco was listening to our exchange. His voice is ice cold as he speaks.

" _He_ is not deaf either, Granger, although he may be concentrating on beating _your_ boyfriend. I daresay I'm be more suited to being the dirty secret than Potter is... He's the one stooping low enough as to date a former Death-Eater, after all... I get to be with the Golden Saviour Boy, what's there to hide?"

Alarmed by the bitterness seeping in his tone, I quickly rise and go place a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Draco, no one here thinks..."

"Maybe you're right," he interrupts me, "but someone will think it sooner or later. What are you going to do then?"

"I'll ignore them, as I've always done with gossip-mongers. We know how things are between us."

I bend down to kiss him; Ron makes gagging noises.

Hermione pipes in soothingly. "Well then, if it's like this, Draco, I'm sorry for doubting you. Try and make Harry happy."

"I will," Draco cuts it short.

"And get ready," warns Hermione. "As soon as the term begins, even the walls will know that you two are together."

Ron's eyes widen. "Even the walls? 'Mione, aren't you exaggerating a bit?"

"Not at all. You should have read _Hogwarts: A History_."

"Checkmate, Weasel."

Attacked from two fronts, Ron literally howls.

 

*

**Wednesday 02-01-2013**

In my dream, it's snowing. Draco's skin is snowy-white, and the roaring fire throws golden hues to his creamy hair. He's waiting for me. I lie down by his side and he wraps me in a tight embrace. His body burns hotter than the flames in the fireplace, and I gladly melt.

As I wake up, the warmth lingers.

 

*

The Great Hall is almost empty in the morning: the few students who didn't go home for the holidays sit at the same table.

I can hear many whispered "Is it true, then? About Potter?" coming from the younger students' corner. Several heads nod; Luna smiles mysteriously to herself, then resumes her whispering into Neville's ear. "And then the purple Heffalump..."

I'm buttering my bread when Draco arrives, sliding next to me and caressing my leg under the table. He takes a few bites of bread with jam, looks furtively around, and then places a strawberry-flavoured kiss on my mouth.

"Good morning, Potter, my love."

"Hello, you. What was that?"

Another kiss follows.

"That?"

"Yes, that."

"It was one of these." He kisses me again, with relish.

"I like these."

"There are many more for you where this one came from."

Ron makes gagging noises, and Hermione clears her throat loudly.

Ginny pales. "Don't do that, please, it makes you sound like Umbridge."

"Sorry, Ginny, but do you see them?"

"You bet!" She nods vigorously. "I'm definitely looking. Aren't they hot together?"

"I suppose." Hermione's eyes are turned away. "But they'll attract the attention of the Professors if they carry on like this. Harry, Draco. Not keeping it a secret, fine, but are you sure you want our teachers to know?"

This catches my attention. "Why should they care?" I ask, perplexed.

"Because, Potter, my love, they'll be worried that our feelings are only induced by the bond we share," Draco explains dryly.

"But that's ridiculous! I had feelings for you long before the whole bonding thing, only..."

"...only you were in denial." Ginny completes my sentence. "Harry, I could have told you that ages ago. Do you really think the teachers will accept that as an explanation?"

"I strongly doubt it." Draco's tone is practical. "Furthermore, if they did find out, they might decide to increase the surveillance, thus making it difficult for us to meet in non-public places..."

"And you'll need some quality time alone, of course!" Ginny muses. "What if we ask to keep a mixed table for all Eighth Years after the holidays, in the interest of inter-House unity? Otherwise, it would be too noticeable that you two are sitting together and probably holding hands under the table."

I feel relieved. "Great idea! The appeal to inter-House unity worked for Seamus' party anyway..."

Ginny seems ready to burst into action. "I'll ask Professor McGonagall straight away. Neville will be happy... won't you, Nev?"

"Sure I will. It's a fine idea."

Luna smiles her faraway smile. "The Nargles will be happy as well."

"I know, pet," coos Neville.

"... and maybe Malfoy will allow me to sit next to his manly friend," continues Ginny.

"As the lady wishes, " concedes Draco; he makes a sign to Blaise, who is sitting at the other corner of the table. Quickly, Blaise leaves his half-eaten platter of sausages and comes to us, taking Ginny's hand in his and raising it to kiss her knuckles. She blushes and smiles.

Blaise bows to me.

"Thank you, Potter."

"You're wel... wait, for what?"

"For freeing me from the constant whining. You don't want to know how Draco was, when he thought you didn't like him..."

After breakfast, I'm all too happy to spend time with Draco. We're idly roaming the castle, holding hands, when an idea pops up.

"Draco, do you want to see my owl?"

"What? Is this a pick-up line? Yes, Harry, I would very much like to see your owl. I'd love it, actually."

To his credit, Draco does not as much as bat an eyelash as I lead him to the Owlery.

"Here, Harry? I'd prefer to see your owl in a less smelly place..."

I whistle, and Alba swoops down on my arm.

Draco gulps. "Oh, you really meant your owl."

"I said so, didn't I?"

"And such a fine lady she is... Her name?"

"Alba."

"Fitting."

He offers his arm. Alba gracefully goes to him and nibbles on the lock of hair caressing his cheekbone.

Introductions made, we leave Alba to her morning rest, deciding on a stroll on the snow-covered grounds.

To be true, as soon as we're far enough from the main building, we end up lying down, making snow angels and laughing. Then Draco rolls over and we end up lying entangled, making each other dizzy with deep kisses and not laughing at all -- no breath to spare.

 

*

At lunch, Ginny and Hermione are happy to let us know that the Headmistress approved our idea for a joined table for Eighth Years. She also was forced to make the usual exception for Ginny, who will sit with us.

This success amazes me.

"How can you make the sterner of our teachers agree to your every request?"

"Natural charm? I grew up with six brothers, you know..."

 

*

Smuggling Draco into Gryffindor's common room is quite easy, as the Fat Lady has decided it's so romantic for us to be together.

He is reading something about Potions with my head on his lap, when Hermione closes her book loudly and pipes up.

"Harry, what about your dreams?"

I do not bother to raise my head. "What about them?"

"Are you still having nightmares?" She expands her question. "We need to understand how the whole bonding thing works, and now that Draco will not oppose you, I thought you two could maybe experiment..."

"I like the idea of experimenting with Potter's mind," Draco drawls, ruffling my hair in affection, "but if we have to discuss our dreams aloud, you'd better leave the room."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I'm not a prude, Draco, and it's for research purposes. Maybe my N.E.W.T. Charms essay could be about magical bonding and the consequences thereof."

I don't want to discuss our intimate dreams in front of Hermione, no way.

"Maybe we can work out the details of the dreams in private, and then let you in on the conclusions."

"Fine, then," she agrees, much to my relief. "I'll be in my room if you need any advice."

 

*

Talking over the dreams with Draco is both embarrassing and arousing.

Every night, we dreamed exactly the same things, and felt the same emotions. We do not discuss the last pleasant dream before the nightmares, as it feels still too important and too intimate to spoil with words.

We soon find out that neither him nor I did send images and ideas that the other simply received: every single dream we shared was a mixed construction. Apparently, both our minds did open up for the other, blending feelings, experiences, desires and even fears.

Hermione, when called back, takes in these deductions with a fascinated look on her face.

"Your idea makes sense. You have a shared unconscious, and you both have access to it while asleep. It could be because you're both strong-minded and are equals in your bond. I wonder... can one of you send images to the other without them being altered to fit the shared background emotions?"

"We can try it. Draco, are you ready?"

I feel a bit thirsty, and try to send to his mind the image of water.

"Harry, why are you taunting me while Granger's in the room?"

"How is thinking about a glass of water taunting you?"

"You sent me the idea of your gorgeous self, naked under the shower..."

"I didn't."

"You did."

Hermione shakes her head at us. "Stop it! Draco, I think you need to let Harry take control of the bond. Your mind should act as a receiver, not provide images of its own."

"Relinquish control?" Draco sounds scandalized.

I try to soothe him. "Only to me, Draco. Still, it's easier said than done, 'Mione. Maybe with some practice..."

"I am advising you to practice this, am I not?" Hermione snaps. "Never said it would be easy."

"On the other hand, if we manage to master the bond," Draco admits, "it can become a useful way to communicate."

I totally see his point, and prompt another attempt.

"Let's try again, then. Draco, I'll try to let you in control. Think something at me... Draco!"

"What?" He has the voice of innocence unjustly offended.

"Why do you want to cover me up in melted chocolate?"

"I was only thinking about a bar of chocolate..."

"You two are ruled by hormones!" Hermione rolls her eyes. "Seriously, guys! Try again!"

I force myself to open up my mind, surrendering to Draco.

This time, the image of Narcissa Malfoy appears clearly, surrounded by affection.

"Draco, it's your mom!"

Hermione smiles. "Glad you two can keep it decent. It seems you can share images only if strong feelings are involved, though."

"You could be right." I ponder her hypothesis. "The first days after casting the spell, I had the feeling of knowing how Draco was feeling..."

"I did as well," Draco confirms. "It was quite disturbing."

"Well then," she concludes, sounding satisfied. "You can share dreams made up with the desires of both, you can let the other know how you feel and pass images involving strong emotions to the other. Can you talk into each other's minds?"

"Hermione, this is a magical bond, not science fiction!" I can't believe she's seriously considering the possibility.

"I know! Didn't Voldemort talk to your mind, and to everyone, to be precise, at the end of the war? Isn't your Lion Mark working in the same way your scar worked?"

She has a point. We try. No success.

"Maybe Draco's not powerful enough..." I try to explain the failure.

Draco punches me on the shoulder. I tackle him onto the couch. We kiss.

Hermione huffs and leaves the room again.

 

*

**Thursday 03-01-2013**

In our dream, Draco is sitting underneath a tree by the lakeshore, his eyes closed. I kneel by his side and kiss his eyelids. He lifts his arms to encircle my neck, a hand playing with my hair. His mouth parts slightly. I press my lips to it. We melt into a slow kiss.

I wish this happened: we would have spared ourselves a good week of despair.

Our day is spent in a wing of Hogwarts' Castle that's still under renovations after the last battle, lying on a couch Draco transfigured from broken desks.

We've been cuddling and kissing all day.

"Draco?"

"Mmmh?"

"Do you remember when you summoned me by the lake using your Mark?"

"I promised that I'd never do it again. Don't worry." His fingers trace my cheek.

"I didn't mean that. If you need me to be at your side in a rush, you can use it, you know. I don't mind."

"My Gryffindor Hero." He ruffles my hair in affectionately. "Why did you bring it up, then?"

"When we were there, you said something around the lines that Malfoys are masters of seduction, that everyone lucky enough to be touched by you enjoyed the experience."

"So?"

"I think I may be jealous... Did you touch a lot of people, then?"

"Well, Mother liked it when I combed her hair..."

"Draco! You know what I mean. You sounded like you had someone in mind, who was eager to be touched by you!"

"I had a Crup when I was a child. He always wanted to be petted."

"That's it? You goaded me with your Crup in mind?"

"Yes."

"I thought you had had tons of lovers. I feared..."

"What I have is a creative mind. And some skill at getting under your skin, I suppose. But no, no former lovers you need to be jealous about. I was waiting for you to come around. Not consciously, maybe, but I was waiting for you. What about you?"

"You already know. A kiss with Cho Chang, not particularly pleasant. Some kisses with Ginny. I've never really been attracted to anybody else."

"Only me?"

"Only you, Draco."

"And nobody's ever touched you like this?"

His hands run underneath my sweater, caressing my back, my chest, my hips. He grazes by-mistake-purposefully over my groin and then lifts a hand to cup my face, looking expectantly into my eyes.

"Only you, Draco."

"Fine then. I'd love to learn how to get exactly at your skin's level, now, Harry. Not under your skin. Just on it."

He's a quick learner.

 

*

**Friday 04-01-2013**

In our dream, I'm in the outskirts of Hogsmeade. I'm walking alone. Draco is sitting on a tree, and he slides down as I pass. He presses me against the trunk, his body harder than the bark under my back. I close my hands on his arse and pull him tighter, grinding my hips against his groin. He grinds back, my same need reflected into eyes gone deep and dark and huge.

The tree becomes covered with pale green leaves. It blooms. Rosy petals fall and catch in Draco's hair. Apples ripen and rot. Rusty leaves crumble at our feet. Snow covers everything. As the seasons spin, we never break the kiss.

The day is clear, and Draco agrees the weather is perfect to go flying. We bring Alba with us, and we spend the morning racing around, with my Barn Owl chasing us merrily. It's only as we start flying alongside, a few feet above the ground, our knees brushing, that Alba returns to the Owlery. Draco nudges me with his elbow, and we're back to kissing, losing control of our brooms. Luckily, the ground is close by, so it's only a short fall. Draco lands atop me, his body pressing on mine in a delicious way.

If not for the coldness seeping from below, we could easily spend all day lying like this.

Since it's freezing, after a while we get back inside and spend a quiet afternoon in the Library, revising our homework under Hermione's scrutiny.

She goes to a faraway shelf looking for a book, and upon her return, she finds me sitting on the table and Draco standing between my legs, his hands making my hair even messier, my hands running along his back, my glasses lying discarded over a scroll. We're so engrossed in our kiss, we barely hear her scream at us in frustration. If she carries on like this, Madam Pince will forbid her to enter the Library altogether.

 

*

**Saturday 05-01-2013**

In our dream, we fly.

We're on our brooms, chasing each other higher and higher. We hover above the clouds, crossing our broom-handles, and kiss hungrily, exhilarated from the lack of oxygen. The brooms disappear, and we fall, entangled, never breaking the kiss.

We plunge into the lake, still devouring each other's mouths. For some reason, breathing is not an issue. I have a feeling that not kissing Draco is what will make me suffocate.

As we're having breakfast and I'm suppressing the urge to lick Draco's mouth to catch the juices of the apple he's biting into, Alba brings me a note from Andromeda. She asks for the pleasure of my company, seeing as I didn't visit before during the holidays. I do feel a bit guilty, now that I think of it. Draco pets Alba and gives her some treats while I quickly pen an affirmative answer.

"Draco, would you like to come with me? She's your Aunt, after all."

"She's mainly my D.A.D.A. teacher. I think it best not to intrude."

"But won't you like to meet your cousin? He's not even nine months old, but you should see..."

"Maybe another time. I'll find ways to entertain myself while you're away."

Now this sounds interesting.

The lunch with Andromeda is a pleasant matter, although feeding Teddy his soup proves to be hard work: I think I'm wearing at least half of the slimy stuff by the time he's finished. Hagrid arrives for tea later, and Teddy makes happy gurgling noises upon seeing him. I'm surprised to see how well they work together, like a family. Hagrid's relationship with Madam Maxime ended badly when she accused him of being an uncouth brute, yet Andromeda, the epitome of cleanliness, seems to accept him just fine.

I'm bare-chested and rummaging inside my trunk to find a clean sweater, when pale hands slide around my middle.

I turn into Draco's arms, and we kiss hungrily for a while.

Seeing me all goose bumps despite his warm hands roaming all over my skin, Draco hands me Molly's last creation, thus revealing a certain box.

"The _Ride Me Gift Set_? Really? Saint Potter, you astonish me! When did you purchase such an item, if I may inquire?"

"It was a Christmas gift, if you really want to know."

"Planning on using it with someone?"

"Are you offering?"

"You wish, Potter!"

"Yeah, I do."

"Me too." His smile is the single most luscious thing I've ever seen. Honey-flavoured? Edible? We shall definitely put this to good use."

And we could have, were it not for Ron barging in.

"Mate, Malfoy! You've been here all alone for way too long. Come join us in the common room now. I don't want you two to be doing _things_ in my dorm room. Blimey, Harry, put that box away! I don't want to know..."

 

*

**Sunday 06-01-2013**

In our dream, we're in a clearing in a forest. The light is golden. I know we're on Malfoy Manor's grounds. White peacocks appear and disappear through the branches.

Draco only wears a thin pair of pyjama trousers, riding low on his hips. The outline of his cock is tantalizing. As I straddle him, I notice I'm already naked. Through the fabric, I can't feel enough of Draco. This last thought makes his trousers disappear; he's not wearing pants. Our erections are suddenly pressed together. Our breaths catch. The need is unbearable...

Not for the first time this winter, I take care of my morning wood wishing for Draco's hand instead. I hope he's sensing it through our bond.

 

*

It's the last day of the holidays, and almost everybody is busy finishing homework.

Thanks to Hermione, mine is done, so I can spend the day with Draco. Since we agreed to keep out relationship out of the teachers' eyes, by tomorrow, we won't be able to kiss and hug as freely as we're already used to. We roam the castle idly, holding hands, and are surprised when the stairs take us to the unused wing and to the couch Draco transfigured the other day. At least, I am surprised; Draco wears a suspiciously satisfied smirk.

We lay side by side on the couch, pressing against each other. Our kisses are slow, deep, teasing.

Hesitantly, Draco slides his hands underneath the waistband of my trousers and pants, caressing my naked arse. Having him touching my skin only makes me crave for more. He reads my mind, or my moans, and one of his hands shifts to my hipbone, closer to where I need it. I don't really like the idea of losing the friction between our clothed cocks, but I suddenly long to feel his hardness under my fingers. As I unbutton him and plunge my hand inside his pants, Draco hums his approval and closes his hand around my throbbing erection. His flesh is burning, silky, hard.

My brain collapses under the double pleasure of touching him and having his hands on me, and nothing can delay my climax. Draco's follows in two strokes.

I'm fumbling around for my wand when Draco stops me, gently squeezing my softening cock.

"What are you doing?"

"We need to cast a cleaning spell..."

"What? Are you daft, Harry? You cannot Scourgify your tender bits! Here, have a tissue. Love, you don't want to use that spell, believe me..."

Much to Draco's surprise, I cast a quick Accio, and after a minute, Sirius' naughty notebook of spells falls neatly into my hand. I leaf through it until I find the right page.

"What about this one? Seems gentler than Scourgify..."

"A little useful booklet you have here. Saint Potter, my arse!"

"I happen to like your arse, Draco, quite a lot. This useful booklet belonged to my Godfather."

"I don't want to know. Does it contain other good spells?"

Like every other student here, we spend the day studying and practicing. If by the end of the day our bits are aching raw, it's not because we don't master the Mild Make-Clean Charm.

 

*

**Monday 07-01-2013**

In our dream, we're in the Great Hall and Draco feeds me pieces of fruit dipped in melted chocolate. Then we're in the Great Hall no more: we're naked, and I'm dipping my fingers in the melted chocolate, painting swirls on Draco's skin before licking them off. We kiss greedily, tasting sweetness. Draco takes up the cup and pours the lukewarm chocolate right above my groin. With the sweetest of smiles, he bends his head.

I wake up wondering whose idea this was, Draco's or mine, whether we'll be doing this soon, how I'll survive the morning lessons. During the holidays, I got used to having all day with Draco, and now...

 

*

Hermione was right. We've just sat at the breakfast table when a procession of girls, from First to Seventh Year, from all Houses, comes asking me if it's true. Draco, sitting at my side, should help them get the answer on their own, but I nod nonetheless. Draco's hand on my knee gives me the strength.

After a while, Ginny takes pity and answers for me, thus allowing us to eat in relative peace.

"Yes, they are. You should have seen them kissing. Yes, all the best ones are taken. I know: it's not right. No, neither of them would be interested in a threesome with you. Nor with me. Can't you see they only have eyes for each other? Yes, they loved each other for ages. Yes, that's why they were fighting. Pent-up sexual tension, for sure. Yes, they're an item now. Go spread the news, if you like. Should we make a public announcement? Yes, Potter and Malfoy are dating! Stop pestering us!"

Once the silly girls are gone, Draco half smiles. "Thank you, Weaslette, for sparing us the cumbersome work of telling them off."

"You're welcome, Malfoy." Her answering grin splits her face in half.

"Ginny, do you know what you just did?" Hermione asks, alarmed.

"I helped a friend, why?"

"You gave permission to spread the news to two of the chattiest and silliest girls in the whole school. Harry, Draco," Hermione continues sternly, "I hope you are ready. You'll be a living legend for everyone in Hufflepuff House in no time at all."

I groan; Draco smirks.

"I'm the Slytherin Prince, remember? I already am a living legend."

The double Transfiguration lesson is impossible to bear. I lose a lot of points for being distracted, undeservingly. I am concentrating really hard. On Draco, that's true, but I'm not distracted.

I even manage to transfigure my lizard into a watch with a shock of pale hairs, then into an hourglass with amazing grey eyes. Since it ought to be transfigured into a pendulum clock, I doubt my grades will be good.

 

*

**Tuesday 08-01-2013**

In our dream, we're back in Slughorn's classroom. We are brewing Amortentia.

"Harry, my boy, what do you smell?"

I smell treacle tart, broom-handle polish, and something flowery.

Apparently, it is of the utmost importance that I recognize exactly what kind of flower. Professor Slughorn brings me a box full of tiny vials, each one containing some floral essence. I dutifully uncork each one, sniffing and discarding them one by one, until I get to the one labelled _Calycanthus_. Professor Slughorn beams.

"Are you sure, my boy?"

I am.

"Mister Malfoy, can you please tell the class about your shampoo?"

"It's sweet-shrub-scented, Professor."

"And would you be so kind..."

Draco comes impossibly close and offers me the side of his neck. I inhale deeply the same scent of the vial, the scent of Amortentia. The scent of love. His scent.

Draco's lips part under the soft pressing of mine. I dimly hear Professor Slughorn awarding us points.

 

*

At breakfast, Draco is unusually curious.

"Did your Amortentia really smell like my hair?"

"Yes, why?"

"I remember well what you said at the time, that it was something you could have smelled at the Burrow..."

Hearing the name of her house, Ginny pipes in. More probably, she was listening all along.

"No need to be jealous, Draco. Around my home, there's a lovely hedge of sweet-shrub. Mum's very proud of it, and keeps some branches in a vase on the kitchen table..."

"I'm not jealous, Weaslette. I'm just wondering..."

I suddenly understand what he's getting at.

"Draco, of course I knew it was your scent. I didn't know the name of the stuff, though. You think I should have said out loud it was something I smelled around you? What would you have done if I did?"

"I'd have mocked you to death, probably," he grimaces.

"Want to mock me now?"

"I'm wiser now. I'd rather kiss you."

I put everything into the kiss, tasting his sweetness. I wonder if Professor Slughorn will allow us to pair up together this term. Maybe Ron can ask to work with Blaise: he'll need to keep an eye on the Slytherin, if Ginny's really interested in him.

I share almost all my morning lessons with Draco, Potions being particularly hard: I have to fight the urge to re-enact the kissing part of our dream. At least I can look at him.

He's really drop-dead gorgeous.

 

*

**Friday 11-01-2013**

In our dream, I'm naked in bed, alone, waiting for Draco to arrive. To amuse myself, I leaf through Sirius' notebook and try out some interesting spells on myself. The first one scours my insides so deeply, I fear it removed some layers of skin; the second one makes my muscles go completely lax; the third one fills me with a cold and slippery substance that drips in a puddle underneath me.

I look up and find Draco leaning on the doorframe. He asks me if I'm done with the spellwork. I nod. He strides towards the bed and takes me. I'm so slack and so slick, I almost can't feel him.

 

*

I wake up feeling disturbed, knowing Draco shares the mood.

Ron refused to work with Blaise, so during Potions, we can't talk to each other, but he keeps glancing sideways at me.

After lunch, we go straight to our couch in the abandoned wing.

"Potter, care to explain? Where did that dream come from?"

"From you?"

"I assure you, I did not find it in the least bit arousing."

"Neither did I. To be true, I _was_ thinking about going all the way with you... with school on we barely managed to have any alone time... I'm almost suffering kiss-withdrawal."

"I know what you mean... Go on."

"I need you, Draco. I was thinking about making love, about getting you inside me. I've had you in my hand, and you're, erm, quite well endowed, shall I say? So I was musing about the... mechanics of it. The books Hermione gave me stress a lot the importance of preparation... and I suppose I thought it would be nice to be able to simply have you slide inside me, without troubles."

"It is possible I was thinking on the same lines, about how it would feel to sheathe myself inside of you. I don't want to hurt you, though, and I fear I won't be able to make it pleasurable for you..."

"Plus we did spend a lot of time reading from Sirius' book the other day..."

"This explains it, then. But Harry, never like that. All of your pleasure ought to come from my hands, or tongue, or whatever. From me. I don't want you to need some spellwork more than you need me."

"Never, Draco. No spells, then." Then I reconsider. "What about the Mild Make-Clean Charm?"

"You come here and give me a minute, Potter. We'll need it..."

We do.

 

*

**Monday 14-01-2013**

To my complete lack of enthusiasm, Andromeda wants me to attend the D.A.D.A. lesson about Occlumency. I am to report my experience and demonstrate the dangers of leaving one's mind unprotected. I also have to point out the usefulness of peaking into one's enemy's mind.

I forge through the scary visions Voldemort sent me and point out how my being able to know Voldemort's intentions from an insider point of view was useful in winning our battle. As I retell and relive, only Draco's unimpressed stare and the flood of affection coming from him keep me grounded.

"Thank you, Harry. This should have made it clear that you need both to protect your mind and to get over your opponent's defences. You already know the spells. Concentration is required. Now, on to the practice. Remember: putting in the forefront of your mind a memory that you don't want your opponent to access may strengthen your will to keep your mind inaccessible. Harry, work with Mr. Malfoy, if you please."

I lock my eyes into Draco's and cast Legilimens. His mind is well guarded, bond or no bond, and it's only after many attempts that I'm able to break through.

I see Draco sitting naked on the floor. I see myself kneeling behind him, my chest flush with his back. I am placing open-mouthed kisses on his neck. My left hand rests on his hip; the right one is entwined with his own hands, stroking his hardness. Arousal and surprise flood my mind at the same time: we've never been like this. We look much younger than we are. How can he remember something that hasn't happened? And then I see it, on the edges of his memory: the frame of the Mirror of Erised.

A flood of unutterable sadness pervades me, and we break eye contact.

After the lesson, Draco doesn't wait for me. I have to run to get to his side.

"Draco..."

"Go away, Potter!"

"Draco, please. It's all right. Everything is fine. I love you, remember?"

"I didn't want you to see that! I was pathetic! I wanted you so much..."

"I know. Me too. Draco, I'm yours now. You don't need to be in front of a mirror to see me behind you..."

The hint of a smile graces his features.

"I do not have eyes on the back of my head. Of course I'd need a mirror..."

"Well then, you can conjure one, first time we get naked, if you want."

"Can it be now?"

Since skipping lunch never killed anyone but unsatisfied desire possibly can, we head to the empty classroom where our transfigured couch waits.

We're almost there when loud noises and screeching stop us on the spot.

"Peeves was right, Mrs Norris, yes he was. He told us! Students should sit on hard, wooden benches! And here's a couch, nonetheless. I'll tell you, Mrs Norris, in my time... Peeves! Stop it! Those desks can be mended! We don't want to know what those nasty students got up to on this couch, oh no! They deserve a good caning! But the Headmistress is soft..."

As silently and quickly as possible, we backtrack.

"I guess our secret place is no longer an option, then."

Draco sound dejected, and I absolutely need to make it better.

The cupboard is small and dusty, but mercifully only contains old graded essays. We spread them on the floor. Draco transfigures a bit of wall into a mirror. We do not take off our clothes, but Draco lowers his trousers and pants to mid-thigh. I wrap myself around him, kissing his neck and stroking his aching cock. In the dim light coming through the chinks of the door, his eyes never falter from the reflection of mine. He comes silently, shivering. I spell him clean afterwards. His mouth curves into a peaceful smile. It's the first time I'm happy to be shut in a cupboard.

In the afternoon, we talk about the past, and I tell him my weaknesses in exchange for his own. Draco is shocked to hear about the Dursleys. His arms keep me anchored to reality, his grip never faltering. Not even Hermione dares to ask us to stop hugging on the common room's couch.

 

*

**Friday 18-01-2013**

In our dream, we sleep. It's a bit odd to see myself sleeping. Do I really sprawl out like this, taking up the entire mattress? Is my hair really this desperate? And Draco... Draco looks like an archangel. His face is tucked into the hollow between my neck and shoulder, his left arm secured around my chest. His arse is the most delectable little thing, round and perfect, with my hand splayed on one cheek; his groin presses on my hipbone. I can sense his cock awakening, and mine.

The latter is not a good thing, as I find myself pitifully Draco-less, hugged to my pillow and aching with desire. I'd really love to share with Draco: dorm, room, bed, sheets, skin... everything.

 

*

Draco arrives from his double Alchemy lessons with a broad grin and a parcel under his arm.

I thank him.

"Oh, you'll thank me just fine. No, it's not for you."

"What? Why? What's inside? Who's it for?"

"I'll tell you one word: bribery. Hands off, Potter!"

So I put my hands where he cannot tell me off, and we kiss as we wait for my friends to arrive for lunch.

"Hey, Granger. I bet you're interested in this."

He hands her the parcel. She opens it and squeals. Really.

" _The Journals of the Founders_? Draco, this is amazing! A fascinating read, for sure. Where did you find it? It's an anastatic printing, isn't it?"

"I thought you would have recognized an original manuscript, Granger."

Hermione is flabbergasted. "What? The original? Draco, this should be in a museum! How come you have it?"

"Malfoys have their ways," he says loftily. "Do you want it or not?"

"Of course I do! I could never thank you enough..."

"Now that you mention it..."

Hermione looks at Draco's innocent smile, and her eyes turn into suspicious slits.

He goes on, unimpressed. "As you know, I happen to be involved in a really serious relationship with our Saviour and your best friend. However, despite us being star-bonded, our intimacy is hindered by difficult circumstances, such as our belonging to different Houses. It came to my mind, though, that you are Head Girl, and thus in possession of your own private room. Now, if you would be so kind as to allow your best friend and his true love to..."

At this point, Ron starts sputtering breadcrumbs all around.

"What? Harry, is the Ferret asking what I think he's asking?"

I nod, laughing so hard at his horrified face that tears pool in the corner of my eyes.

"No way! 'Mione, I forbid it! Harry, I don't want you to get naked with the Ferret on Hermione's bed! It would scar me for life."

"Don't worry, Ron." Hermione smiles briefly at him. "Sorry, Draco, I can't allow it. It won't be proper. You can have your manuscript back."

The last sentence is dripping with reluctance.

"No, keep it. It was a gift, freely given." Here's Draco's manipulative side at his best: he plays noble, while preparing an emotional blackmail.

"Thank you, then." Hermione clutches the manuscript to her bosom, and then she utters exactly what Draco was waiting to hear. "If I can help you in some other way..."

He jumps on this like a Nundu on his prey. "You could be less stern and turn a blind eye were you to find me and Harry in Gryffindor common room, on the couch, engaged in..."

"Ugh, I don't need to hear more," she says, raising her hands. "Agreed."

She quickly finishes her meal, eager to read the precious manuscript.

I look at Draco in disbelief.

"How did you do it? She'll allow us to, _erm_..."

"I'm a Slytherin, and I use my brain. That's how. Furthermore, I do need to _erm_ with you on a daily basis, Potter, you know it."

"Wait a minute here, mate." Ron speaks slowly, measuring each word. "The Ferret just asked permission from Hermione to make out with you on _our_ couch, and she agreed?"

Draco beats me to the answer. "Apparently, Weasel. I'm astonished by your sharp observation skills."

"And why are you so keen on staying in our common room?" Ron retorts. "Why don't you go snogging in the Slytherin dungeons, for a change?"

"Would you trust your Saviour in the snake's nest, Weasel?"

Ron shakes his head, but Ginny nods emphatically.

"If need be, I'm willing to escort Harry in the snake's nest, myself. I may have a snake to enchant there, after all. Draco, do you think your hot friend Zabini will be available to help me with my Potions homework, while you're otherwise engaged with Harry?"

 

*

Truth be told, the couch in Slytherin common room is as comfy as our own. I end up with my head on Draco's chest, his hands toying idly with my hair. It's domestic and peaceful, and we doze off for a while, lulled by the nearby voices of Ginny and Blaise discussing Potion ingredients.

A shriek startles us into wakefulness. It's the nasty Parkinson girl.

"Draco! How dare you! I suffered through all your I'm-not-interested-in-girls phase, but I won't stand for this. Bringing Undesirable Potter here into our sanctuary? Has your brain gone to mush? Get him out this minute, or I'll never talk to you again!"

"Is that a promise?" Draco asks impudently.

I drag him out of his common room just in time to avoid a nasty hex.

Just our luck: another cuddling place, unsuitable.

 

*

**Thursday 24-01-2013**

After double Transfiguration in the afternoon, I smuggle Draco in Gryffindor common room again. After all, we have Hermione's permission, and the room is presently deserted.

We make ourselves at home, both on the couch and in each other's mouth.

Draco's tie lies discarded on the ground. My tie is the only piece of cloth covering my upper body. Draco's robes and shirt are unbuttoned, my trousers unfastened. I am nibbling and licking Draco's torso. One of his hands is groping my arse; the other is inside my pants, doing delicious things.

This is how Neville finds us upon entering the room, quickly covering his eyes.

"Honestly, you two! I'm glad you get along, but I deserve to be spared from this! At least put up a Silencing Charm! And a Blinding Charm, since you're at it!"

It's hard to recognize calm, clumsy, easygoing Neville in this assertive young man who's shouting at us. Killing giant snakes apparently does wonders for one's self-esteem.

Draco removes his hand from my pants, and we hastily re-fasten our clothes, inwardly bemoaning the loss.

Draco hands me my glasses, and I'm able to focus on Neville's face.

"Sorry, Nev. We are decent now."

He peers between his fingers, lowering his hand as he finds us fully clothed. "Well, then. This is the key to the hothouse Professor Sprout reserved for my experimental work. It's a nice, warm place. No one uses it but me. You may want to take a walk there now and then..."

I take it before he can change his mind. "Thank you, Neville! Really, you're a lifesaver!"

Draco accepts formally. "This is very unexpectedly becoming of you, Longbottom."

"Don't mention it." Neville's voice turns stern. "I warn you, Malfoy: no plant should be damaged, or..."

 

*

**Friday 25-01-2013**

In our dream, we're surrounded by vegetation. Giant Umbrella Flowers hover above our heads. We stand naked a few feet away from each other. We hold out our hands, and Devil's Snare's tendrils coil around our arms and legs and torsos, making it impossible to reach. I know we should stay calm to be freed, but we're too eager to touch each other's flesh, and we struggle forward. Our shoulders are strained with the effort; we're so unbalanced that, were the tendrils to let go, we would fall face down. We finally manage to push our hips forward enough to have the tips of our cocks grazing one against one another.

We've not even started to enjoy the friction when we find ourselves surrounded by Whomping Willow's saplings: the branches start immediately to land blows on our backs.

 

*

"Potter, my love, are you still willing to meet in Longbottom's Conservatory later today?"

"Of course I am."

"Fancy being spanked by Whomping Willows, then?"

"What? No! Not at all! Maybe you do, though..."

"Not by some wicked plant, that's for sure. It seems we shouldn't worry about damaging the plants, after all. I fear it will be the plants trying to damage us."

"You're a sissy, Draco. Do I have to spell it out? I want you. I want someplace to be with you. Not even a whole field of howling Mandrakes would keep me away."

The Hothouse is as Neville described it, nice and warm. The plants seem mostly harmless, and we carefully avoid the row of vases labelled _W.W. Seeds._

Once we think we're in a safe corner, we disregard the vegetation altogether. My hands stray inside Draco's sweater, his hands slip over my arse. It's not easy to walk this way, kissing all the while, without really seeing where we're going. At some point, my back meets a hard surface. It's a desk, cluttered with vases of graceful, tentacled plants. I lean heavily on it, my knees weak due to Draco's skilful ministrations. Draco falls gracefully to his knees, and I look at him in puzzlement, bemoaning the loss of his lips. He looks beautifully dishevelled over a background of quivering bushes. Quivering bushes? Are my glasses askew, or is it that I can't see straight due to lack of blood in my brain?

Draco's hands deftly unbuckle my trousers, his breath caressing my aching erection before he takes it neatly into his mouth. A flutter of flowers rises from the bushes. It is maddening, this desire.

Curiously, it's not the heat of Draco's mouth that does me in, nor the swirling of his tongue, nor the hollow-cheeked sucking or the pressure of his swallowing throat. It's the sight of Draco Malfoy on his knees in front of me, Draco Malfoy not complaining about my hands mussing his soft, perfect hair, Draco Malfoy with his lips stretched around my cock, Draco Malfoy peering at me from under his fringe, with an expectant look that quickly changes into triumph as I let myself go.

I look back at him in amazement as he swallows; after a while, he reluctantly releases my softening flesh.

"Mmmh, yes... you taste delicious, Harry... love you."

He rises gracefully, and embraces me just in time to keep me upright despite my buckling legs. He holds me tightly, with his whole body pressed against mine, and I can feel the hot bulge of his groin against my still naked, still damp flesh.

Since I'm not able to stand anyway, I let myself fall on my knees -- less gracefully than Draco did earlier -- and I make quick work of freeing his straining erection. Placing my hands on his hips for balance, I lower my mouth to the treat his cock is.

I read about how to do this, but coordinating the motions isn't easy: I need to cover up my teeth, I need to lick him, to follow the veins with gentle pressure, to tease the slit, to swirl under his foreskin, I need to suck hard, I need to swallow him whole. My jaw aches, my lips are dry, breathing is almost impossible. Tears pool into my eyes with my efforts to take him all into my mouth -- down my throat if need be -- fighting against my gag reflex. I must be doing something right, because suddenly Draco moans and shudders, and my mouth is filled with bittersweet, salty stickiness. I manage not to choke, barely, and I swallow all I can; a few drops trickle out of the corner of my mouth. Draco's thumb collects the spillage, and I lick it clean.

I can sense his legs tremble, and I pull him down to me. Embraced, we roll over to a patch of lovely grass dotted with long stems carrying many pendent purple flowers. Some of them get crushed, but Draco's weight crushing me down is way more important at the moment. He arranges himself neatly between my legs and methodically explores my mouth, his tongue skilled and eager. I answer each stroke, each stab, each slide. Out bits are still bare and exposed. The skin-on-skin contact makes them twitch with renewed arousal. Something bursts into flames not far away, but we're already too lost in each other to care.

 

*

**Saturday 26-01-2013**

In our dream, we lay naked in a meadow. Butterflies surround us. They land on Draco, and I chase them away. I'm the only living being allowed to touch his skin. Draco's mouth tastes like sugar.

I'm sitting on the couch in our common room, revising my Transfigurations essay, with Draco studying Alchemy with his head on my lap, when an enraged Neville barges in, stomping loudly.

"Here you are! You could at least have told me! I went to the Hothouse this morning, and guess what? It's a mess! You scared away the flowers of the Flutterby Bushes! They only bloom once in a century, do you realize? I was studying how they change their scent to attract the unwary... I spent hours gathering them back... and they now smell like Harry's soap! A year of work, wasted! And the Flitterblooms? You traumatized them! It will take me ages to disentangle their tentacles! The poor plants were induced to intertwine one with the other! I guess you had some can't-take-my-hands-off-you influence... What were you doing? No, don't tell me. Not to mention the Fire Seed Bush! It's not supposed to combust like that!"

I do not dare interrupt Neville's rant -- we're guilty, after all -- but Draco has no such qualms.

"What can I tell you, Longbottom? Me and Potter, we're hot stuff..."

"And you managed to crush my foxgloves as well! At least you didn't roll on the patch of Leaping Toadstools, and left my Whomping Willow saplings alone..."

"Sorry, Nev," I offer. "We didn't do it on purpose."

"You got carried away, I can imagine. I'm sorry, Harry, but it's simply too dangerous to have you two making out in there. You could have rolled on the Venomous Tentacula! It can be fatal, you know! I'll have my key back, if you please. Now. You'll have to find another place..."

 

*

**Thursday 31-01-2013**

In my dream, we're lying side by side, gazing at the stars. Draco whispers their names to me.

"That is Regulus, in your Leo Constellation, and Sirius, in the Canis Major. That one is Andromeda. I won't point out Bellatrix, though."

"I guess it's nice being of the Black bloodline. You can imagine the people you loved and lost are in the stars..."

"We can make up our own constellations, love. See this? This is the Lily, and that one over there is the Great Deer. That's the Werewolf Cluster. The Potion Vial. The Warlock's Beard. And that one is the Great Snowy Owl."

"Draco, that's Cassiopeia!"

"No, Potter. It's the Great Snowy Owl. And that one is your Dragon. As above, so below. Here."

He kisses my forehead gently, and then proceeds to paint his own constellation on my naked skin, with careful dips and strokes of his tongue.

 

*

"Morning, Gryffindorks. Potter, did you sleep well? Come here, love."

His kiss is a slow dance of lips on lips, intoxicating.

Hermione voices her surprise. "Draco, how come you're still calling Harry by his surname?"

"That's because I really, really love Potter..."

"I think the Ferret's simply too lazy to come up with a pet name, don't you, mate?" interrupts Ron.

" ... and you would definitely not like to attend the occasions when I call him Harry," continues Draco. "Here, love, for you."

He hands me a packet, craftily wrapped with silver paper.

"It happens to be exactly a month that we've been together. Accept this as a token of my affection."

I tear the paper impatiently; I did not expect a gift from him, at all. Inside, I find the fluffiest, softest plush dragon I've ever seen. He has a cute, silly face, grey round eyes, platinum gold wings and green fur.

"Draco, it's adorable!"

"It came to my mind that it wouldn't be proper for you to sleep without your dragon, so here it is."

Ron looks at the plush toy mockingly. "You're a romantic at heart, Ferret, aren't you?"

"Ronald! You should learn from him! Such a thoughtful gift..."

If Hermione turns to mush because of something Draco did for me, I fear the world is about to end.

During the Potion lesson, a folded paper crane lands stealthily on my chopping board. I unfold it, hiding a smile.

There is a black-and-white drawing inside, of Draco kissing me. Arrows point out at captions. I am clearly labelled as "Potter, my love". Draco's label says simply "Lucky me". The roughly sketched building we're in is marked "Astronomy Tower, tonight at 10:00". It is signed with a small heart containing a D.

I raise my head, and Draco is looking expectantly at me. I nod, blushing a bit.

I am distracted the whole day, thinking about something suitable to give Draco; I didn't expect a month-versary present and am oddly touched by his gesture.

Professor McGonagall makes us Transfigure Knuts into buttons, and this finally gives me the perfect idea. It requires a Floo call to Molly Weasley: I need advice and have to learn a few spells I'm not willing to ask Hermione.

Some hours later, I'm quite happy with my present for Draco. It's not perfect, but I think I managed to mix craft and magic just fine, and I only shed minimum amounts of blood for it.

Draco misses dinner, and I wonder what he has planned for our special date. It's only when Hermione tries to suppress laughter that I realize I'm behaving like a girl with her first crush. I guess that's not far from the truth, either.

 

*

I am early for our date, but Draco's already there. He looks stunning in midnight blue fitted robes with embroidery of silver stars. His kiss is perfectly balanced between elation, hunger, and affection.

We sit down side by side on a blanked he has spread on the floor, and I kick off my shoes.

I hand Draco his present with no small amount of pride in my creation.

He opens it with care, discovering a small stuffed lion with bright green buttons for eyes.

"Harry, it's so cute! Where did you find it?"

"I made it for you, Draco. I love you."

"Love you too."

He strokes the fabric of the lion's body, and his expression turns suspicious.

"Potter, what did you make this with? I think I've already seen this particular shade of golden velvet..."

"...on my bed, yes. I cut a piece of my bedspread."

"Do I dare to ask about the red silk of its mane?"

"That's from my pants."

"What?!?"

He looks stunned, than surreptitiously lifts the toy lion to his face.

"Don't worry, it's from a pair I've never worn."

"I wasn't worried. I love your scent. I'm just surprised that you own silk underwear."

"Owned. And it was an old gift from the Weasley twins. Meant as a joke, you don't need to fret."

"I'm just sorry I won't have the privilege of seeing you in red silk pants today, that's all."

But his smile tells me he's imagining it just fine.

He hugs the lion to his chest and snaps his fingers.

A small House Elf Apparates in with a tray, places it carefully at our feet, bows curtly and Disapparates away. The tray contains two glasses of champagne and a heart-shaped cake.

"It's chocolate and raspberries. I hope you'll like it."

I particularly like the taste of Draco's fingers as he feeds me small bites of the sweet.

The champagne is dry and sparkly, and I sip it directly from Draco's mouth, which greatly adds to its flavour.

Afterwards, we lie on our backs, hand in hand, and look at the stars above for a while.

As we roll on our sides locking mouths, I begin to feel all hot and bothered, and Draco's cheeks are tinted with an adorable shade of red as well: there must be a Warming Charm in place.

"Draco, isn't it a bit too warm? I think I'll take off my sweater. Aren't you boiling inside those robes? You'll feel better if you take them off. Although I must say, you look striking in them."

"I'm fine, but please do as you wish."

I slide my hands inside his robes, and I'm stunned to find him naked. Completely naked. His skin is silkier than the cloth, and I'm suddenly salivating at the idea of being able to taste him all. Which is exactly what I do, under the silent gaze of the stars.

Somewhat later, Draco's sitting behind me, his renewed erection pressed on my backside. His chin is propped on my shoulder and his right hand forefinger points to the sky, showing me Betelgeuse and Cassiopeia and Vega, and the Dragon Constellation of course, whispering their names into my ear, nibbling at the lobe to boot, just like in our dream. Meanwhile, his left hand is busy stroking my cock with maddening slowness.

"Draco... please... more..."

"I want this to last, Harry, my love. I want you to go crazy with need..."

"Already there, Dray..."

A particularly skilled manoeuvre of the palm of his hand steals my breath, then his mouth descends upon my flesh, and I'm no more able to talk at all.

As Draco gently tucks me back inside my pants, the sound of voices startles us.

"Ready your telescopes, class. It's a perfect night for..."

It's Professor Sinistra with the Third Years.

Draco quickly straightens his robes, helping me onto my feet just in time.

"Good evening, Professor. We'll leave immediately. I was showing Potter some constellations."

"You were studying, then? Fine. Pity you decided against the Astronomy N.E.W.T., Mr. Malfoy. I won't dock you points for being out this late, but get back to your dorms straight away."

"Yes, Professor. Thank you." I turn towards the stairs.

"Have a pleasant lesson," adds Draco. "Orion is beautiful tonight..."

Draco didn't even lie: he was making me see stars, indeed.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

  
**Monday 4-02-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're on the lakeshore. The lake is frozen solid. Draco's face is streaked with tears. We kiss. It's like a backwards Dementor's kiss: all the happiness of the world floods me, and I've never felt my soul be so clearly _here_ before. Draco's tears disappear, and his smile is the single most beautiful thing I've ever seen. The lake melts.  
  
I'm sure this particular dream came from Draco's mind. He knows that today I'm to attend the D.A.D.A. lesson again and that I'm uncomfortable with the thought. Andromeda will focus on the "know your fears" bit of defence, using Boggarts like Lupin did. What if mine turns into a Dementor again? Being scared of fear itself may be wise, but the so-called Saviour of the Wizarding World cannot be paralyzed by it. What if I'm too slow to react? I guess thoughts of kissing Draco will help me Conjure the mightiest Patronus of my life.  
  


*

  
  
As expected, Andromeda starts the lesson with a speech.  
  
"Students, Defence is not only about defeating your enemies. Furthermore, Dark Wizards often use your weaknesses against you. You have to stay strong nonetheless, never allowing them to break you down. Not even under the Cruciatus Curse. I know what I'm talking about, here. I'm aware the war is over: this doesn't mean you'll never need to fight again. And to be good at Defending yourself, you need to master your fears. Before that, you need to know what your weakest point is. We're working with Boggarts today. I know you did it in Third Year. You should already know the Riddikulus spell, but it is not the focus of this lesson. We'll focus on understanding your deepest fears here. Ready? Let's begin."  
  
The lesson is going pretty well, and the massive use of Riddikulus makes it even pleasant, as the other students' fears take form and are turned into laughter.  
  
This changes abruptly with Draco's turn. The Boggart becomes Draco himself: he's huddled in the fetal position, with tears streaming down his face, and wails, "I love you, please don't leave me," in a small, desperate voice.  
  
As the real Draco is staring at it stock-still, clearly unable to react, I throw myself between him and the Boggart. It changes into a tombstone, carved out of green-veined marble.   
  
As soon as I understand what I'm looking at, I cast Riddikulus, changing the engraving to:  
  
"He was a suicide blond, dyed by his own hand."  
  
The class bursts into laughter, and Draco stares at me. Relief and indignation struggle for dominion on his face, slowly chasing the distressed looks away.   
  
In the end, he drawls haughtily. "As you should know perfectly well, Potter, I'm a natural blond. Furthermore, I'd never kill myself".   
  
His bravado does not deceive me. I know he's still upset, and I ask Andromeda for permission to leave the room. Truth is, I need to be alone with him where we can touch and hug and take comfort in each other. In the time I needed to cast the spell, I was able to read the name carved on the stone: Draco's name.  
  
Seems our worst fear is losing one another.  
  
We spend the lunch break standing in a niche, hugging each other so tightly, our arms tremble, and murmuring soft reassurances.  
  
In the afternoon, Neville has to excuse me from Herbology, since I'm not letting Draco out of my sight or my arms, not right now. He skips Alchemy as well, and we kiss and kiss and kiss until we're almost healed. Then we keep on kissing, just because.  
  


*

  
  
**Wednesday 13-02-2012**  
  
In our dream, I'm chased by dragons. Hungarian Horntails and Chinese Fireballs and Swedish Short-Snouts and Ukrainian Ironbellies and Norwegian Ridgebacks, they're all chasing me. I've just stolen the golden egg they were protecting, and they're furious at me. I rescued the egg, though, and that's the important thing.  
  
Later, I'm in the Prefects' bathroom, the golden egg cradled on my chest, chin-deep in the oily water.  
  
I sink in, holding my breath, and hear the Merpeople's song. As I resurface, the rounded shape in my hands is no more a golden egg: it's Draco's head. His hair is dripping wet and a shade darker than usual: pure gold. His body presses mine down, warm and slick. His voice sounds more alluring than that of any siren. He sings to me about sinking in, about something that I'll sorely miss, something that belongs to me. He's still chanting about love as he gives me back what should be mine, sliding it inside me. He fills me, and I'm complete, the missing piece recovered at last.  
  


*

  
  
Making love in dreams is not enough. Kissing in the corners between lessons is not enough. Snogging and cuddling in Gryffindor's common room is not enough. Hugging in the dark corners is not enough.   
  
We do not dare take off clothes in the corridors. It's still too cold to go outside. On the Astronomy Tower, we barely avoided getting caught. After the last time, Neville will never allow us in the Hothouses again.  
  
I need to feel Draco's hands on my naked skin, and to have my hands all over him. I need to see him while I touch, to see his face as he touches me. I ache for it.  
  
It seems our dreams may be smarter than I am: the Prefect's bathroom, with its huge bathtub, it's the perfect place. I've been there. Why haven't I thought of it before?   
  
In the afternoon, I explain my idea to Draco; I must admit, I expected a more enthusiastic reaction.  
  
"I do not want to be seen naked by that constantly complaining ghost..."  
  
"Moaning Myrtle? Merlin, I forgot about her! I don't want an audience! Last time she kept trying to look underneath the foam..."  
  
"What? How dared she? She's lucky to be already dead, or... Anyway, the place has its appeal. How can we get rid of the nosy ghost?"  
  
"Maybe someone could lure her out for an evening..."  
  
"Good idea. Who? One of your friends? Who'd ever want to spend the evening with her? She's insufferable! The last time I had the misfortune of meeting her, right before you found me in the bathroom, she was happy there was someone else crying with her. Do you realize?"  
  
"Yes, I get it. One must be dead to suffer her. Where do we go then? Draco, I need..."  
  
"Harry, you're brilliant!"  
  
"What? Well, thanks, I suppose. Why?"  
  
"You said it. Only dead people will suffer her. We'll ask someone who is dead!"  
  
"Another ghost, you mean? You know she doesn't like the other ghosts..."  
  
"She's a pathetic teen-aged, angst-ridden ghost, isn't she?"  
  
"Yes, but..."  
  
"It's done, then. We'll set her up on a date. There's the ghost of a young Highwayman in the Slytherin Dungeons who looks quite dashing. I bet she'd love to go out with him. I'll arrange it with the Bloody Baron. Be ready for me, Potter, my love, tomorrow at nine. Do not bother to bring clothes."  
  
"I am already ready for you, Draco. See?"  
  
I briefly press my hips against his groin so he'll feel how ready I am. He feels ready as well.  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 14-02-2012**  
  
In our dream, I'm following Draco. I'm sure he's up to something. He enters the bathroom. I follow. As I finally reach him, he's leaning on a sink, his knitted vest discarded on the floor. Hearing footsteps, he turns, his wand at the ready. When he sees it's me, he casts a Vanishing spell to my clothes. I answer with a spell that tears his clothing to ribbons. Merlin, he's gorgeous with the shredded remains of his shirt and trousers barely hanging on his body. Before he can complain about the waste of good fabrics, I silence him with kisses, my hands roaming over his skin. We end up on the floor, our naked flesh firmly pressed together. The fluid splattering Draco's chest after a while is not blood. Definitely not.  
  
We have a history in bathrooms, Draco and I.  
  


*

  
  
I'm almost bursting with excitement at the idea of seeing Draco naked in real life, of being completely naked with him, free to touch and kiss and gaze without clothes getting in the way.  
  
After lunch, we hug before parting ways: his hands cup my arse so tightly that, for a moment, I consider skipping lessons and begging Draco to tell Myrtle her date with the Highwayman ghost has been put forward. I resist.  
  
After the afternoon double Transfigurations, we walk together to the Gryffindor common room, taking up the couch in front of the fireplace. I'm almost sitting on Draco's lap, and our kisses get steamier and steamier as time passes. Luckily, none of my House mates interrupt us.  
  
I've been half-hard all day.  
  
I am painfully so as I enter the bathroom right after dinner. Draco is waiting for me, sitting on a bench, fully clothed apart for his graceful, naked feet. The big bathtub is filled to the brim with steaming, herbal-scented water. Hearing the door open, he lifts his head and looks in my general direction.  
  
"Finally. Get out of your Invisibility Cloak."  
  
I discard it, and Draco pouts in disappointment: underneath it, I'm wearing a sweater and jeans. I did consider not wearing any clothes, but chickened out.  
  
Draco rises and we share a kiss.  
  
Suddenly, being here is awkward: embarrassment builds, and we stand one in front of each other, not knowing what to do next. Draco's blush is the cutest thing I've ever seen.   
  
I brace myself and take off my sweater quickly, then I kick my shoes away and I shimmy out of my trousers. Draco smirks at my red cotton pants.  
  
"Your turn now."  
  
Draco begins unbuttoning his shirt, almost reluctantly.   
  
"Draco, come on! I think I already touched and kissed everything there is. I want to see you, too."  
  
He lets his shirt slide from his shoulders.  
  
My eyes are glued to his chest.  
  
"What are you staring at?"  
  
"You."  
  
"I'm sorry for not being perfect."  
  
"Draco, what? You don't think...?"  
  
"I know for sure. When you first dreamed of me, my body was perfect. It's not. I'm scarred. It was your fault, anyway."  
  
"It was, and you know how sorry I am for that. If I could take it back, I'd do it. But Draco, you are. Perfect. To me. Never doubt it."  
  
As a reminder, I trace the crisscross of the dark lines on his chest, with fingers and breath and tongue, adoringly. The skin where my careless spell slashed him tastes no different from the rest, and the scars are smooth, un-ridged, only their shade making them perceptible. When I kissed and caressed him on the Astronomy Tower, I wasn't able to feel them at all.  
  
He gasps and shudders and allows my touches.  
  
"Some days I'm almost glad you scarred me."  
  
"I'm not. Not because they make you less perfect, because they don't. But the pain... You could have died. Had I known what the spell did..."  
  
"What your silly spell did, Potter, was cut into my flesh a brand that wasn't Voldemort's. I used to trace those scars, alone in my bed, pretending to feel your touch. The only way you would ever touch me, by hurting me."  
  
"I am touching you now. I'll never hurt you again. Here, feel it? Hands and mouth and everything, on your body, not hurting. I love you, Draco."  
  
"Good, then. Ready for the big show?"  
  
I stare at him unblinkingly as he lowers both his trousers and pants in a quick motion, baring himself completely. It's a mouth-watering vision, his straining cock, and I stand mesmerized.  
  
"Now you, Potter. Catch me."  
  
He slides in the hot water, and I hasten to strip my pants off and follow him.  
  
The tub is big, and Draco's in a teasing mood now, so we swim around for a while. Finally, he allows me to reach him. Our bodies are slicked by the soapy water, and Draco's cock slides deliciously against mine as we hug. I barely believe this is not a dream.   
  
Draco sits on an underwater bench and drags me to straddle his lap. His flesh is burning hot.  
  
"Harry, please touch me."  
  
I caress his chest, tracing the scars again and teasing his nipples for a while, before dipping lower and taking him in my hand, stroking him. Draco buries his face in my neck, nibbling and kissing the soft skin and making me moan. His knuckles brush against mine as he closes his hand around my cock. His lips run all over my jawbone and finally claim my mouth.   
  
Being able to do this at leisure, looking into each other's eyes, skin on skin, is a maddening pleasure.  
  
Afterwards, we float together in utter relaxation.  
  


*

  
  
"So, did you get me a present?"  
  
"A present? Why? Isn't your birthday in June?"  
  
"For Valentine's day, you dunderhead!"  
  
"Is it Valentine's day? Guess I forgot. I was so excited about the idea of having you in this room..."  
  
"You are a substandard boyfriend sometimes. Would you mind, were I to take my own gift from you?"  
  
Arousal spikes through me again at the sultry tone of his voice. "Help yourself."  
  
Draco circles my hips and lifts me up, making me sit on the ledge of the tub. He spreads my legs with his hands under my knees and buries his face on my left inner thigh, nuzzling and kissing. I'm immediately hard again. With painful slowness, and painstakingly avoiding my throbbing length, he traces an arc of kisses from one hipbone to the other, never lifting from my skin. He nibbles at the other thigh for a while, and then finally his tongue is on my cock, tracing its length with one single swipe, from root to tip. He lingers quite a lot, teasing me in this fashion. I'm not aware of the noises issuing from my parted lips, but he must understand I'm on the brink of madness, because he takes me whole into his mouth at last.  
  
I drown in sensations: tongue and lips and the slightest scrape of teeth, every movement seems designed to coax a mind-blowing orgasm out of me. I surrender to his skill.   
  
As he pulls me back into the hot water, he swallows and licks his lips.  
  
"Thank you, Harry, for such a thoughtful Valentine's present. It was exactly what I wanted."  
  
"You're very welcome. Where's my present, then?"  
  
"You already unwrapped it, Potter, you git."  
  
"Did I? May I play with it then?"  
  
I may. The perfect present, indeed.  
  


*

  
  
**Friday 15-02-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're underwater. We shared Gillyweed, and breathing isn't a need anymore. Our mouths are locked. Draco's eyes are impossibly deep, his hair a golden halo floating around his head. My legs are wrapped securely around his waist. His hands cup my arse, holding me as close as possible. He's inside me.   
  
I'm his oyster, all smooth and slick; he's the hard object that will be turned into pearls.   
  


*

  
  
I'm still feeling languorous and happy when I meet Draco at breakfast. We share a lingering kiss that's interrupted by the cold sensation of a ghost passing through us.   
  
It's the Highwayman ghost.  
  
Draco addresses him politely. "Did you enjoy your date, Sir? No need to thank us."  
  
"Thank you? I should cut your throats and steal your horses and clothes! It was the worst night of my life... of my death... whatever! Not even being hanged can compare! The nerve you had, pairing me with that whiner! She never stopped talking about her death! Se took me on a tour of the piping! Do you realize? Yards and yards of dunk, damp, smelly piping!"  
  
I try to placate him. "Yes, well, I'm sorry..."  
  
"I will show you sorry, if you don't keep that insufferable little moaner away from me!"  
  
I must admit I'm relieved when he storms off. "He wasn't really nice with us, was he?"  
  
"But how would you like to spend a night with Moaning Myrtle, Potter?"  
  
"If you put it that way. It's a pity, though. If they got on, we could have many more nights..."  
  
"I suppose I could always come up with others ideas for getting rid of the whiner for a night." Draco ponders the problem for a while. "What about the Fat Friar?"  
  
"He's a Friar, Draco! Why should he be interested in dating anyone?"  
  
"Why not? All right, all right, let me think."  
  


*

  
  
After the morning lessons and lunch, I meet with Draco to further discuss strategy.  
  
It seems he did not find any convincing idea.  
  
"Peeves?"  
  
"Draco, are you serious? He's insufferable!"  
  
"That's the point. They are clearly made for one another."  
  
"How do you plan to convince him? He hates students..."  
  
"Ruled out, then. Sir Podmore?"  
  
"Yes... because he already fell head over heels for her..."  
  
"Cut the sarcasm, Potter. Doesn't Gryffindor have a quite pleasant ghost?"  
  
"Nearly Headless Nick? Please! He's old. Why not the Bloody Baron, then?"  
  
"Creepy. Plus, he's still punishing himself for what happened with Helena Ravenclaw, you know it. He'll never go out with another ghost. We'll be more successful pairing Myrtle with the Grey Lady herself!"  
  
"Draco, that's brilliant!"  
  
"What? Potter, are you completely daft? Are my kisses addling your brain? I was joking!"  
  
"Why not? Myrtle was in Ravenclaw after all..."  
  
"...and she has always taken every chance she could of ogling you! No way, trust me."  
  
"So what can we do about Myrtle?"  
  
This is, obviously, the moment when she appears.  
  
"You're sweet, Harry, worrying about me. Did you hear about my date? It was awful! He was such a brute! He didn't want to hear about my death, he didn't want to sit on the siphon with me, he didn't even like the pipes!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Myrtle." I really feel guilty now.  
  
"Don't worry. The mermaid on the glass window told me everything. Next time you're going to make out with Malfoy in the Prefect's bathroom, don't worry about me. I'll stay in a corner, quiet."  
  
I stomp surreptitiously on Draco's foot to prevent him from talking.  
  
"Thank you, Myrtle. We'll see."  
  
She floats away, and I try to silence Draco with my tongue, without success.  
  
"Did you hear her? The nerve of suggesting... And that mermaid, spying on us! Though I must admit, together we are a sight to behold. Harry, love..."  
  
"We need another place, I know. What about the Chamber of Secrets?"  
  
"Never been there. Isn't it where you killed...? Never mind. Yeah, fine. Tomorrow?"  
  
"Tomorrow."  
  


*

  
  
**Saturday 16 -02-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're surrounded by bare, damp rock. We're naked, but not even the flesh-on-flesh contact keeps us warm. Draco's weight pins me down on something hard and lumpy, and I realize with a jolt that we're lying on the spine of the Basilisk, his ribs caging us in. We do not want to make love here.  
  
Suddenly, we find ourselves on a huge mattress. All around us, floating candles light up the place. The linens are soft under my back; Draco is hard on my belly. I match his hardness. Now, this is a good place to make love.  
  
This morning, the idea brilliantly bouncing inside my head prevents me from learning anything.  
  
I can't wait to talk to Draco about it, but I'd rather wait after lunch and not be overheard. I'm pretty sure Hermione wouldn't approve of it. The way Draco kisses me, however, lets me know he can feel something's up. Besides the obvious.   
  
In the afternoon, I'm busy with Quidditch practice. Draco waits for me by the pitch, embracing me as soon as I'm off the broom.  
  
"Draco, I'm all sweaty."  
  
"I like you sweaty. Come here, you."  
  
His kisses are intoxicating, and for a moment, I lose myself in them, then I remember what I've wanted to tell him the whole day.  
  
"Draco, we can be together, alone, where no-one will disturb us or spy on us..."  
  
"I know I agreed yesterday, love, but if the Chambers of Secrets is like it was in our dream..."  
  
"Pretty much is, I fear."  
  
"...then no way I'll get naked around that skeleton."  
  
"What? No, of course not. In our dream, we also went to a soft bed."  
  
"It was my attempt to escape that depressing, scary place."  
  
"But there's a place, here, that will adapt to our needs..."  
  
"Is there?"  
  
"We had the party there... the Room of Requirement. Ring any bell?"  
  
"Never heard of it."  
  
This takes me by surprise for a moment, and then I remember that he only experienced it as the Room of Hidden Things, because that was what he was looking for. I don't want to remind him about the whole repairing-the-cabinets-and-allowing-Death-Eaters-inside-Hogwarts incident, nor about the Fiendfyre where Crabbe died, but I know he'll recognize the place as soon as we'll reach the corridor. I offer him the truth in the simplest way, hoping he won't be affected too much. "Remember the Room of Hidden Things? It's the same room. Basically, it turns into what you need at the moment..."  
  
"The Room..." his face falls for a moment. "Yes, I remember..."  
  
"If you don't want to..." I offer him a way out.  
  
"No, it's fine. Let's make good memories of the place." He smirks. "So, will this Room of Requirement become what we want? Give us anything we want?"  
  
"As far as I've tried it, yes."  
  
His smile is sudden and blindingly bright. "That's brilliant, Potter! Why didn't you think about it before?"  
  
"I'm not thinking very clearly lately, and it's all your fault, Draco."  
  
"My fault? If anything, I'm making you smarter, by osmosis."  
  
"You also make my blood desert my brain..."  
  
"My poor love. Will kissing you make it better?"  
  
"You'll have to do much more than kiss me this time, to make it better."  
  
His body is still pressed against mine, and I can feel he's got no qualms about it.  
  
We rush to the seventh floor corridor and walk urgently in front of the hidden door. The Room inside is just like we imagined it: floating candles cast a soft light on a big bed. Then both Draco and I focus on what's on the bed, and freeze.  
  
A mane of fiery red hair cascades over a pale, freckled back, whose owner is rising and falling rhythmically over a dark set of thighs and manly bits.   
  
I know that hair. "Ginny!"  
  
The movement stops, but she doesn't turn around. "Get out, Harry, we'll talk later!"  
  
I unfreeze and drag Draco outside. He leans on the wall; I slide down to sit on the floor.  
  
"Seems the Weaslette had our very same requirements." Draco states the obvious.  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"She managed to ensnare Blaise, then."  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Love, you are usually a bit more articulate than this. Care to explain?"  
  
"I don't know," I start reflexively, "if I'm more disappointed about not having the Room to ourselves or more put off by what we saw..."  
  
"If you're put off, it's just as well, since we are lacking a convenient place. Again. This is incredibly frustrating."  
  
"Yeah... and we also will have to face Ginny and Blaise, later."   
  
"Don't remind me."   
  
"Draco? Do you want to wait till they're finished, and then be in the Room with me?"  
  
"I'd love to be with you, in every possible way. But if we were able to walk in on them, what if somebody else has the same urges while we're, how shall I say, distracted? The idea of someone else looking at you when you're in the throes of passion is unbearable..."  
  
"I don't want other people to see us either. No Room of Requirement, then?"  
  
"I fear so. Come on, there should be an empty corridor somewhere..."  
  
There is, but kissing hidden in uncomfortable corners is not nearly enough.  
  


*

  
  
We confront Blaise and a dishevelled Ginny just before dinner. To be true, it's quite amicable.  
  
"So, Blaise, seems you like the taste of Gryffindors, after all!"  
  
"What's there not to like?" Blaise answers openly.  
  
Ginny looks really happy hanging on his arm, so I feel compelled to warn him. "Careful, Zabini, or Ron will cut your bits off and eat them for breakfast."  
  
Ginny punches me lightly on the arm. "That's what I said to Malfoy when you started dating him, you stealer!"  
  
Blaise straightens his spine and answers coldly. "I can assure you, Potter, that if any member of the Weasley family is going to eat my bits, it won't be Ron."  
  
"Spare us the details!" Draco and I chide in unison.  
  
"If you didn't want details," smirks Ginny mischievously, "you could have stayed out of the Room."  
  
"We didn't know you'd be in there," I say apologetically. "We just wanted..."  
  
"Spare us the details!" Ginny and Blaise chorus.  
  
We spend the evening in a deserted classroom, not daring to do much more than kiss. Kissing is almost enough to make me reconsider the idea of going to the Room of Requirements again. Almost.  
  
As we part ways, each of us headed to his own dorm, I start plotting in my mind. I have the Marauder's Map and the Cloak of Invisibility. I should be able to sneak into the dungeons...  
  


*

  
  
Ron is not in his bed. By the time Neville's snores finally signal he is fast asleep, I'm almost exploding with impatience. Rummaging in my trunk in search of the Cloak, my hands find a smooth cloth. After a moment, I remember the pyjamas Hermione gifted me. I strip quickly and don it on my bare skin. After all, seducing a Malfoy requires the proper attire.  
  
I'm buttoning up the pyjama top when I feel a tug. Suddenly, I find myself in the secluded space of Draco's four-poster bed. The heavy, velvet curtains are closed, and only a weak Lumos enlightens his face.  
  
"Draco, are you all right?"  
  
"Fine. I just happen to find myself in dire need of a Saviour, and since you said you wouldn't mind being summoned..."  
  
Draco tosses back his hair, and it's only then I notice he's completely naked, propped up on his elbows, his legs spread open. His cock seems painfully hard. I sit in the v formed by his thighs, my legs surrounding his hips, close enough to press my answering hardness to his hot length.   
  
Amazingly, Draco's brain can still work, and he recognizes the feel of the fabric separating us.  
  
"Harry, love, are you wearing silk?"  
  
"Yes... They are pyjamas Hermione gave me for Christmas. She said I'd need silk to seduce you."  
  
"To seduce me, you just need your skin."  
  
His hands cup my silk-clad arse, caressing and searching.  
  
"Harry... are you naked underneath?"  
  
"What if I am?"  
  
"I'll ask what you were doing all alone in your dorm, wearing silk."  
  
"I was thinking about your skin."  
  
"Weren't you planning to pay me a visit? You are, after all, in possession of an Invisibility Cloak."  
  
"You'll never know. I'm here now anyway. What do you plan to do with me?"  
  
While talking, we never stop rocking and thrusting against each other.  
  
"I'd love to see you walk in those pyjamas sometime soon. I'd love to peel them off you, slowly, uncovering your naked flesh one delicious bit at a time. Not now. Now I'll content myself with imagining it. What colour are they?"  
  
"The colour of your eyes."  
  
"They really looks good on you then... Harry, I like silk, but I like your skin more. Do something, please."  
  
I remove the offending garments, quickly and clumsily, eager to feel Draco's skin on mine.  
  
He's right, no silk can compare.   
  
Having my aching cock pressed against the smooth hotness of Draco's is pure bliss, but it's not nearly enough. I close my hand around our lengths, squeezing and stroking. Draco leans to retrieve something from his bedside drawer: a darkish bottle.   
  
"Mmmh?"  
  
"Almond oil. Useful for many things. Here, let me."  
  
He pours a good dollop of the oil into his palm, and spreads it over our burning erections. His hand joins mine, and the friction, slicked by the oil, is so intense I feel dizzy.  
  
Draco lets himself fall on his back, and I follow his movement. His bottom lip is the most delicious thing in the whole world. We're lying chest to chest, cock to cock, undulating and trembling and rubbing against each other, and I've never felt like this before. Draco's hands, still slick with oil, trace circles on my back and fondle my buttocks.  
  
"Draco, please... I want... you, my love... more..."  
  
His hand slides lower, tracing my crack up and down, until finally, blessedly, his fingertip grazes my entrance. Feeling his touch there sears my nerve-ends. Before I can beg him for more, I'm swept away by a mind-blowing orgasm. Draco's follows in a heartbeat.  
  
"Harry... stay the night?"  
  
"Not moving. Love you, Dray."  
  
"Goodnight, love."  
  
Sated and spent, we fall asleep into each other's arms.  
  


*

  
  
**Sunday 17-02-2013**  
  
In our dream, I'm sleeping all over Draco, the sweet scent of his hair tickling my nostrils. I can sense the change in his breathing. Two silver moons open up and search my face, intently. Our naked skin is still glued together by the remains of our shared pleasure. Just remembering it, I'm already harder than the morning hour accounts for. Draco's hand cups me, and I realize with a jolt that I'm not dreaming: I am in Draco's bed, in the Slytherin dorm, where I spent the night.  
  
A brief stab of alarm is drowned in Draco's mouth as we share foul-breathed, delicious kisses.  
  
"Mmmh... should have done this ages ago," he murmurs.  
  
"Draco, you awake?"  
  
Blaise's voice startles us, effectively killing my excitement. Reality sinks in: I am in Draco's bed, in the Slytherin dorm, without my Cloak. Hell, without proper clothes. I'll never get out of here alive.  
  
We scramble to retrieve some clothing, as silently and stealthily as possible. I put on my pyjamas, for lack of a better option, while Draco dons a sweater and some trousers.  
  
"I know you're there, Draco."  
  
"I'm not decent, Blaise."  
  
"Of course you aren't. It's been hard to miss the fact you have company, from the noises you two were making. Use a Silencing Charm next time. Morning, Potter."  
  
"Blaise." I try to hide my embarrassment.  
  
"On second thought," he continues, "it would be better if there weren't a next time. Pansy is in the common room ranting because you still are not up. Be grateful I prevented her from barging in..."  
  
Draco sounds extremely annoyed. "And when will the silly bint acknowledge the fact that, whatever her parents may say, I'll never even remotely be interested in her?"  
  
"Maybe if you flaunt Potter's naked body in front of her she'll get it..."  
  
Outrage takes the place of my embarrassment quickly. "Zabini, how dare you!"  
  
"Shush, love," Draco soothes me. "I'd never let her rest her eyes on you, naked or not. Blaise, can't you distract her while I get Harry out?"  
  
"Just this once," Blaise concedes. "Be quick, it's almost ten already. You owe me."  
  
"Here, Harry, wear this." Draco hands me one of his robes, transfiguring the Slytherin badge into a Gryffindor one before I can complain.  
  
Somehow, we manage to exit the dungeons without getting caught, but it's been a close call.  
  
"Next time, Potter, do bring your Cloak."  
  
"The next time you'll be so eager to have me near you that you'll summon me without further notice, you mean?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
He pulls me in by the lapels of the robe and kisses me deeply.  
  
"Go find your friends. Hopefully they'll think you simply overslept. I'll talk to Pansy. See you later, love."  
  


*

  
  
Luckily, Ron spent all the night in Hermione's room and Neville is an early riser: nobody noticed my absence. I spend the rest of the morning in our common room studying with my friends.   
  
After lunch, Draco joins us.  
  
"Harry, we need to work with method."  
  
Hermione's radar latches onto the word. "Do not bother, Draco. How many times did I suggest he use colour-coded charts? He's simply too confident in his intuition..."  
  
"You'll see, Granger: he'll apply himself just fine, to the problem we're trying to solve."  
  
"Need a hand?" she offers, interested.  
  
Draco refuses briskly. "Not at all."   
  
"You're welcome," answers Hermione, unfazed. "Ron, in your essay, here, you should have written..."  
  
As they argue over the essay, I scuttle closer to Draco on the couch and produce the Marauder's Map.  
  
"Maybe we can check the whole thing until we find something... What about a secret passage between our dorm rooms?"  
  
"Highly unlikely. I doubt Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor needed to pay each other nightly visits."  
  
"Pity. Draco, nobody seems to go in this room here, see?"  
  
"That was Severus' private room. I'm not ruling it out, but..."  
  
" _I_ 'll rule it out then. There must be somewhere for us."  
  
"I doubt Hogwarts Castle was built with the purpose of meeting the necessities of students who have lovers in another House. If you were in Slytherin..."  
  
"How I wish it sometimes..."  
  
"Harry, I was joking. You in Slytherin is as unlikely as me in Hufflepuff!"  
  
"Stranger things have happened. Did I tell you where the Sorting Hat wanted to place me?"  
  
"If it's not in my bed, I don't want to know."  
  
"Wait... Draco, is there a door in this spot of Slytherin's common room?"  
  
"What? Where? Under Merlin's tapestry? No, it's solid wall, I think. Why?"  
  
"It seems to be leading to a big room, is all."  
  
"Really?" He takes the map to have a closer look. When he next speaks, his voice is loaded with excitement. "Harry, do you know what this is? It's the Secret Chamber of Salazar, that's what it is!"  
  
"No, the Chamber of Secrets is..."  
  
"I didn't say the Chambers of Secrets, now, did I? In his Journal, Salazar Slytherin claims he carved his own room somewhere in the dungeons: a lavish room, his study, his bedroom, his library... his playfield, I think. If we can get inside... if you remember to bring your Cloak..."  
  
"...we'd have our room..."  
  
"Does your Map reveal how we get in?"  
  
"It usually knows the passwords... see, here's the one for your dungeon... but no, it doesn't say."  
  
"Never mind, we'll find out."  
  
Draco's hand cups my cheek, and he gently turns my face towards him. His parted lips descend on my mouth, his tongue swirling deep and slow and sweet against mine.  
  
I can't wait to try and get in our -- hopefully soon to be -- Secret Chamber, but we can't barge into the dungeons and lift Merlin's tapestry and bang against the wall until we understand how to open it while other Slytherin students are in the room. Reluctantly, we decide to wait until a favourable occasion shall present itself, as Draco phrases it. He does not fool me, though; I know he's as eager to find a place for us as I am, especially after the taste of bed-sharing we had last night.  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 21-02-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're intimate in every possible way, and in some impossible ones as well. I'm so aroused, looking at Draco is almost enough to make me come on the spot. I live, eat and breathe Draco. Not even the dreams we shared when first bonded were like this. Now, we have a very solid idea of what we're missing.  
  
In the waking hours, it's not better. Every kiss is charged with desire; every caress drips sensuality.   
  
We considered going looking for the Secret Chamber everyday, but no occasion presents itself. Draco's too tall to hide with me underneath the Cloak. I thought about lending it to him, so he could explore under the tapestry unseen, but a tapestry moving on his own accord would draw just as much attention as Draco looking underneath it. If the Room is really there, and I've got no reason to doubt the Marauder's Map, we want to keep it a secret. Our secret. Therefore, we wait. It is maddening, yet it holds promises...  
  
This week is impossibly long. We unsuccessfully try to focus on schoolwork. Our dreams have been so sensual and intense that not being able to match them with real touches has been hell. I crave Draco's skin. The fact that we're learning how to send images through our bond doesn't help either: if my mind isn't flooded by Draco's fantasies, it's filled with the ideas I'm sending to him.  
  
The double Transfigurations lesson this afternoon can be considered torture. Draco is almost close enough to touch, projecting the visuals of my hands running on his skin, and the effort not to go to him and snog him senseless is huge. I doubt Headmistress McGonagall would appreciate it, though, even in the interest of inter-House unity.  
  
There's a niche in the fifth floor corridor where we spend the better part of the last days kissing and groping; the stone walls are almost polished now.  
  
I don't know who drags whom, but as soon as the lesson's over, it's there that we go, my back pressed against the wall and sweet, hard, delicious Draco pressed to my front. If our kisses were any deeper, we'd taste each other's tonsils.   
  
"Draco... summon me to your dorm, tonight. I'll bring the Cloak..."  
  
"Oh, love, didn't you hear Blaise? He won't cover for us."  
  
"To hell with Blaise, and nasty Parkinson, and every other Slytherin!"  
  
"Potter!"  
  
"Those present excluded. Really, Draco, I can stay for a few hours and be gone while everyone is still asleep."  
  
"Let's say you'll be able to sneak out unnoticed. Think I'll be able to send you away?"  
  
"I don't want you to send me away..."  
  
"I know, Harry. Are you going to spontaneously rise up and depart, then, leaving me naked and alone?"  
  
"Draco! This is not fair! As if I don't want to spend the whole night with you..."  
  
"That is my point. You'll want to stay, I'll want you to stay... the morning will come and you'll still be in my bed, which is a good thing. Want to bet on who will hex us first?"  
  
"I think they'll hex _me_."  
  
"They'd need to go through me first."  
  
"Draco, I love you."  
  
"Sappish Gryffindor. Love you too. Don't worry, Harry, we'll find our place. Meanwhile, I'll dream of you."  
  
"This is what scares me. I don't know if I can live through another one of those dreams without jumping you on the breakfast table in the morning..."  
  


*

  
  
**Friday 22-02-2013**  
  
In our dream, I'm in a deserted Great Hall. I am lying over the Professors' table, naked and exposed. I'm surrounded by fruits and chocolates and ice cream and assorted sweets. Draco arrives, as naked as I am, claiming to be hungry. He eats me alive.  
  
At the breakfast table, when Hermione asks Draco if he'd like something sweet, Draco blushes in the most delectable way. Serves him right for teasing me all night. I smirk at him.  
  
He's saved from Ginny nagging him for explanations by Headmistress McGonagall's voice.  
  
"Students, a moment of attention, please. I have an announcement. Tonight in Hogsmeade, a theatrical representation of Homer's Odyssey will be held. Every student who wishes to attend will gather at the main entrance at 7 p.m., and we'll leave shortly after. I encourage you all to participate, as it will be of great cultural and entertainment value."  
  
Most Slytherins cheer loudly, and I turn a puzzled look to Draco.  
  
"It is claimed that Ulysses is an historical figure, you know," he explains, not explaining at all.  
  
"So what?"  
  
"The man is the epitome of cunning: he most assuredly belonged to our House. The Odyssey is one of our favourite tales. I don't think a single Slytherin will miss the show."  
  
I catch his meaning, and raise an eyebrow at him. "I think one will."   
  
He winks. "You could be right."  
  


*

  
  
The afternoon slowly turns into evening, and more than half the school is ready to go to the play. Hermione's eager to go, as she often went to theatres with her parents and misses it. She and Ginny drag a somewhat perplexed Ron to the meeting point. Blaise is clearly going with Ginny.  
  
I claim to feel too tired and stay behind. Draco's gone to his dorm room: he'll take enough time to get ready that he'll be too late.  
  
As soon as the huge group leaves, I run toward the Slytherin dungeons. The school seems deserted.  
  
Draco is waiting for me by the door. We kiss heatedly and fall on the couch for much needed snogging time. I don't know what pulse is stronger, the one in my heart or the one in my cock.  
  
"Draco, please..."  
  
"Harry, I want..."  
  
He shifts his legs to better accommodate me in-between; I lose balance in the attempt not to crush him. I fall from the couch.  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
"Sorry, love. Got carried away..."  
  
I rise up, rubbing my butt. "Right... we should be exploring now..."  
  
"I'll explore you just fine, Potter."  
  
"Help yourself, Draco."  
  
"I definitely will, as soon as we find the room."  
  
Merlin, he really is intoxicating. For a moment, I forgot the whole point of being here.   
  


*

  
  
It turns out entering the Secret Chamber of Slytherin is quite easy. The wall where Merlin's tapestry hangs has a sculptured skirting board in the shape of a cluster of intertwined snakes.  
  
Draco's sill looking at the plain wall, knocking on random stones, as my face splits open in a broad grin: I know what I have to do.   
  
"Harry, love? Are you feeling okay?" Draco looks at my face with concern, letting go of the tapestry.  
  
I hiss, "Hiiiiiyessshhhhaasssssssssaah", and the skirting board snakes slither away, unlocking a mechanism. I lift a corner of the tapestry, push the door open and step inside.  
  
After a second, I lift the tapestry again, to find Draco staring agape. I grab his hand and pull him inside, then push the door closed.  
  
We find ourselves in a high-ceilinged room. It's less cold and pompous than I expected. Behind the green screen to our left, I can see a huge bathtub: with luck, the room has its own lavatory. At our right, book-laden shelves surround a massive, wooden desk. The place is spotless, not a speck of dust in sight. The House Elfs must take care of the place even if it's deserted, because a roaring fire warms the room. Right in front of us, a huge four-poster bed with silvery silk sheets seems ready to receive us.  
  
I drag Draco toward the bed and push him until he falls heavily on the soft mattress. He's still dumbfounded. I lie down beside him and plunder his mouth until he comes out of his daze.  
  
"Are... are you still a Parselmouth, Harry?"  
  
"Not really. It was Voldemort's magic, and it was destroyed with the Horcrux part of me, when I died. I just remember how to say some things."   
  
"I mourn the loss."  
  
"Why, do you like to hear me hissing?"  
  
"Mmmh... maybe."  
  
We begin stripping each other with eagerness, kissing every bit of flesh revealed. The discovery, both of his body and of this room, makes me bold.  
  
"And what would you do, my Dragon, were I to ask you to open up, in Parseltongue?"  
  
"This."  
  
He opens arms and mouth and takes me in. We suck each other's lips for quite a lot of time.  
  
"Do you think I could learn it?" He asks suddenly, mid-kiss.  
  
"You could imitate the sounds, I suppose. Ron did."  
  
"And what would happen, Saint Potter, were I to ask you to open up, in Parseltongue?"   
  
"This."  
  
We're both completely naked, by now. I roll on my back and spread my legs, my feet flat on the mattress. I can feel the weight of Draco's stare.  
  
"Useful thing, this Parseltongue."  
  
"You'll find out it's your tongue that does the trick, Parsel or not."  
  
"Is it so?"  
  
Draco crawls between my thighs; his eyes burn with a craving that's borderline starvation.  
  
His mouth is on me, and I raise my hips to sheathe myself deeper in its warmth. When I'm dripping wet, Draco moves his head downward, his tongue never leaving my skin. His hands slide under my arse, raising it from the mattress. I can feel the hotness of his breath on my hole, and spare a moment in amazement that he's apparently going to kiss me there, then his lips connect with my flesh and my brain stops working altogether.  
  
I spread my legs as wide as I can, opening myself to Draco's probing tongue. He shows no hesitation, swiping it up and down my crack in long, wet strokes, circling the tight rim of muscles in the same way he sometimes does with my lips. I whimper and squirm under his ministrations. It feels amazing. I need more. I need to feel him within. As if on cue, Draco's tongue plunges inside me, lapping at my inner walls. I shamelessly push back into his face to take more of it, deeper. I'm barely aware of Draco's nose nuzzling my balls, of one of his hands pumping my cock. My word revolves around Draco's tongue. My hole spasms around its sweet invasion in a sudden and intense orgasm. Draco goes on kissing my arse until my whole body goes limp, then he licks me clean. The sight of it alone makes my spent cock twitch. Draco places a small kiss on the sensitized tip, then climbs my body and tucks his face in my neck. I slowly reconnect to reality.  
  
"Draco? Wasn't it disgusting?"  
  
"Not at all... you taste delicious, love, and the way you squirmed and moaned..."  
  
"Maybe it's a silly question..."  
  
"Mmmh?"  
  
"What do I taste like?"  
  
"Like sex. Musky, tangy, with the barest hint of bitterness... Harry, you aren't worried that I didn't like it, are you?"  
  
"Erm, yes?"  
  
"Does this feel like I didn't enjoy what I was doing?"  
  
He guides my hand on his still very hard cock.  
  
"Harry, I could have come just from kissing you there..."  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"I wanted your mouth on me."  
  
I hasten to comply. He tastes like pure, undiluted heaven.  
  
With reluctance and lingering kisses, I go back to my dorm just before the others return from theatre. My legs still shake.  
  


*

  
  
**Tuesday 26-02-2012**  
  
In our dream, I'm still able to speak Parseltongue as if it was my own skill. Draco behaves like a good snake, writhing and coiling as my hissing tongue traces his skin. I ask him to feel loved, to feel cherished, to feel pleasure. He does.  
  
The Quidditch match against Hufflepuff is today.   
  
I'd rather play against Draco -- play with him, be pressed against him. However, he'll be watching, and I quite like the idea of showing off my flying skills.  
  
The match is going quite well, and I'm circling around the Pitch looking for the Snitch, enjoying myself and stealing glimpses of Draco's eyes fixed on me, as his mind clearly projects a disturbing image. I turn towards the row of seats, spotting his fair head immediately. He's actually surrounded by a flock of girls. As I look, one of them tries to kiss him. He turns his head, and she misses his mouth, at least. I really wish I could hex the girl. As I get ready to sweep close, hoping to scare them all away from him, a whistle signals that the game is over. Usually, the Hufflepuff Seeker is a bit slower than me, but this time I didn't even see the Snitch.  
  


*

  
  
My House mates try not to show disappointment, but the loss stings. I'm furious with myself for getting distracted, and with those girls for making a pass at Draco. They knew we are together, yet one of them tried to kiss him...Draco only wants my kisses. Right? I suddenly need reassurance.  
  
The useful thing about our bond is that Draco senses this, and quickly sends me the image of him hugging me, followed by coiling snakes... of our bodies coiled like snakes. I think he's using this as a code for the Secret Chamber of Slytherin.   
  
While everyone is at dinner, I head to the Dungeons and sneak in. Draco is waiting for me, leaning casually against Merlin's tapestry. A hiss, and we're in.  
  
"Lay down, love. Relax."  
  
He strips me and straddles me as I'm lying on my belly. His hands start kneading my muscles, forcing them to relax. It's heavenly. After a while, something hot is poured on me.  
  
"I Accioed your massage candle while I waited for you. Hope it's fine..."  
  
"Good idea. We can as well keep the whole gift box here."  
  
"You can bring it next time, if you want."  
  
His hands never stop spreading the smooth, warm oil, caressing and massaging me until I'm utterly relaxed. His weight moves from my waist to my thighs, and his oh-so-skilful fingers start kneading my arse-cheeks and rubbing circles on my tailbone.  
  
"Mmmh, Draco, this feels wonderful. Don't stop. Please, Draco, make love to me..."  
  
"I'm not sure..."  
  
"I am. Do I have to beg you? I will, if you want. Draco, my love, I must have you inside me, please..."  
  
"Love, I'm sorry. I really think we'd better wait."  
  
"I... Dray, I feel so empty. Fill me, please."  
  
"If we do it now, you'll regret it..."  
  
"I won't."  
  
"You just say it because you're upset. Those girls don't matter, and you know it. I am yours, Potter, whether I bury myself inside your body now or not."  
  
"It's not that. Really... I've wanted this for quite a long time now... Draco, don't you want me?"  
  
"Are you daft, Potter? Harry, my love, of course I want you. I just don't think it's the right time..."  
  
"And you won't change your mind?"  
  
"Not today. I'm sorry, love..."  
  
"If it is so, Draco, would you mind..."  
  
His hands are still on me. I take his wrist and arch my back, sliding his hand in my crack and sending him the image on page 157 of _May I use your wand?_  
  
Draco is a smart wizard, and his fingertip grazes on my hole at once, somewhat cold against my feverish flesh.  
  
"Love, is this what you want?"  
  
"Dray, please..."  
  
"I'd love to plunge inside and take you, Harry. It's just, I don't want to hurt you."  
  
"You won't hurt me. I already do it to myself sometimes, and you know it. You dreamed of it, even. I'd rather have your hand than mine. Draco, I really, really need to feel you within. If I can't have your cock now, let it be your finger..."   
  
"I've never done this before, to anyone..."  
  
I push down a bit, relishing the sensation of his fingertip breaching me.  
  
"You'll be perfect. You always are."  
  
He is.   
  


*

  
  
**Wednesday 27-02-2013**  
  
In our dream, I'm playing Quidditch against Hufflepuffs. No Snitch in sight. I feel my unconscious has its own way to punish me for losing the game. I so don't need to relive this.   
  
Draco's surrounded by girls. As soon as I notice, I dive towards him. The girls scatter. I lift Draco with an arm around his middle and lift him into air. He makes himself comfortable on my broom, pressing his hip snugly against my groin, encircling my neck with his arms. He claims my mouth in a very demanding kiss. I lift one hand from the broom-handle aiming to cradle his nape, and the Snitch falls on my palm.  
  
Now, this is how it should have been.  
  


*

  
  
"Hey guys, did you hear ?"  
  
Ginny's almost bursting with excitement as she relates the latest gossip over the breakfast table: apparently, the girls who ambushed Draco at the Quidditch match have been cursed to repeat, "I'm a bitch who should keep her paws off other people's boyfriends," every time they open their mouths. The one who tried to kiss him had her mouth entirely removed.   
  
She imparts us this news with so much relish I'm worried.  
  
"Ginny, please tell me it wasn't you who hexed them."  
  
"Of course not! I would not have been so lenient..."  
  
I turn around, looking for someone who'd want to defend Draco and me... someone with the skill to do it. "Hermione?"  
  
"Are you joking?" She sounds utterly scandalised. "Maybe the one trying to kiss him deserved a slap, but certainly not such a hex."  
  
I do not ask Ron; I'm sure he's not involved. Unlike the twins, he's never been particularly skilled at hexing people.  
  
This leaves me with one main suspect. "Draco, you didn't..."  
  
"Potter! Should I punish everyone who shows interest in me? Besides, someone preceded me..."  
  
At this point, Luna's voice pipes in, more focused than usual. "The Nargles told me everything. Those girls were amongst the nosiest when you two started dating, and they told it to everybody. Yet, yesterday they were hitting on Draco... It is simply not done."  
  
"You're right, pet." Neville strokes her hair. "So did _you_ hex them?"  
  
"No, Nev. I'd never do such a thing. The Nargles did."  
  
I honestly don't know how Luna can still surprise me.  
  


*

  
  
**Monday 04-03-2013**  
  
In our dream, I sit on Draco's lap, I sit on Draco's face, I sit on Draco's hand. In our dream, I have Draco inside me, I feel him stretching me, opening me. In our dream, I give Draco everything, and he holds everything I am in his hands, carefully, tightly. Draco owns me. In our dream, and out of it.  
  
It seems Madam Pomfrey has found a cure for the hexed girls, but it took her long enough. I doubt they'll dare approaching Draco again.  
  
During lessons, I zone out, thinking about what happened during the match.   
  
It is childish of me, and I above all should know what it means to be attracted to Draco, but I'm secretly glad that a blonde Ravenclaw _Nargle_ put them in their place. Draco never showed any interested in them, but still... He feels the wave of unreasonable jealousy coming from me, and soothes me with a flood of love and affection.  
  
He's working with apparent concentration, his head bent on his Transfiguration essay, but as I turn toward him, I can see him hiding a smile. Soon after, a paper crane lands on my desk.  
  
"Potter, my love, don't get your knickers in a twist for nothing. I'm not thinking about you in lacy knickers at all, by the way. I'm thinking about you, naked and quivering underneath me. Meet me tonight? Love, D."  
  
I blow him a kiss, nodding.   
  
Professor McGonagall docks me ten points for giving suggestions during the essay writing.  
  
Since I had Draco's finger moving within me for the first time, I've been thinking about getting back in our Secret Room and repeating the whole experience. The sad truth is, I can't sneak in unnoticed anytime I want. If Slytherin students are lounging in the common room, and they usually are, we can't lift the tapestry and get in. The best time is during dinner, when everybody is in the Great Hall, but we can't miss out every meal and risk having our absence noticed by the teachers. The idea of meeting tonight makes my whole body sing.  
  
After a quick shower, during which I try not to imagine Draco's hands soaping me, I get ready for our date. I need to bring the Map and the Cloak with me for getting back to my dorm safely, and I may as well keep my naughty informative books there. Oh, and the _Ride Me Gift Set_.   
  
As soon as we're together and naked, Draco puts the gift set to good use, coating our cocks liberally with the honey-scented lube. I should send George a thank-you note.  
  
I'm pinned on the bed by Draco's sweet weight, our erections rubbing together in the most delicious way. The scent of our nakedness mingles with the honey, making an intoxicating mixture. Draco's skin is so smooth, he is so hard... I raise my hips to meet his downward push, wrapping my legs around his waist and accidentally dislodging Draco's cock. With the next undulation of hips, it slides behind, rubbing deliciously against my crack instead. My heels hammer Draco's arse as he pauses for a while, his hard flesh pressed firmly against the sensitized skin behind my ball-sack, then he resumes his pace.  
  
"Need you... inside... Dray..."  
  
His weight shifts to the side as one of his hands slides downward, caressing my erection. While I'm still able to coordinate movements, I take hold of his cock, fondling and palming it with relish. Draco's hand finally touches my hole, circling it lightly. My groin is flooded with warmth as his body shudders; his come dribbles down, soaking his hand. His dripping forefinger enters me. The idea that he's smearing his semen inside me is so impossibly arousing, and his finger moves in the most delectable way: too soon, I add my juices to his.  
  
We lay, sticky and sated, with Draco sprawled half on top of me.  
  
"Harry... Do you happen by chance to have any Skele-Gro at hand?"  
  
"What? No. Why?"  
  
"You just managed to Evanesco my bones. I'm a puddle, now. Utterly shapeless."  
  
I place my palms on his round buttocks and squeeze.   
  
"You seem solid enough to me... love your shape... Let me rest a bit, and then I'll help you get your bone back just fine. Your bones, I mean."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Rising from the bed and his embrace to go back to my dorm room is the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. I have a feeling this is only true because I'm so utterly spent, or the hardest thing would be found between my legs. I guess Draco's dry humour is rubbing off on me. Luckily, not just his sense of humour is, and other things aren't dry at all. I can almost taste his laughter at my musings. I really need some sleep.  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 07-03-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're facing Dementors. Draco tries and tries to conjure a Patronus, but only puffs of white smoke come out of his wand. The smoke curls in odd shapes, snakes and ferrets and white peacocks. I cast the same spell, and a huge silver dragon appears. Under his wings, we are safe.  
  
Today's D.A.D.A. lesson will focus on the Incanto Patronus, and I know Draco is worried about it.  
  
"Just relax, Draco, you'll do fine."  
  
"Let's say you've given me enough happy memories that I'll be able to cast it... what if it has a ferret's shape after all? I'd be mocked to death!"  
  
"It will have an amazing shape, Draco. You'll see. And I find ferrets are pretty cute anyway."  
  
He punches me lightly and kisses me deeply, so everything is fine.  
  


*

  
  
After Herbology, I hurry to the D.A.D.A. classroom, as Andromeda thinks my experience in leading Dumbledore's Army will help all students cast a proper Patronus. She's under the impression that my fellow students will be less intimidated if I am the one showing them how it's done... maybe she's right.  
  
After a quick explanation, I cast the spell, and my stag appears, leaping and springing around the room. For a moment, I'm almost disappointed it's not the dragon I cast in the dream, then I'm grateful that something from my father is still with me.  
  
When it's Draco's turn, I send him a reassuring glance and the idea of the taste of his lips.  
  
He does well, and, at the second try, he's able to conjure a fully corporeal Patronus. To general astonishment, it's a lion. The giant, silvery beast pads towards me in circles, then it rubs against my legs and starts purring. I quell the urge to pet his mane.  
  
Draco stares at it in amazement, then a big grin lightens his whole face.  
  
I can see the flash of surprise crossing Andromeda's features, and the smile she hides.  
  
After the lesson, Draco is still dazed.  
  
"Did you see it, Harry? My Patronus? "  
  
"It was impressive, Draco."  
  
"It's the first time I succeeded in casting that spell. Last year I wasn't able to conjure one, no matter how hard I tried."  
  
"Really? What was your happy thought?"  
  
"Our first kiss..."  
  
He looks so cute, I just have to give him the latest one.  
  
"I must admit I'm relieved it was a lion and not a ferret or something silly like a dragonfly. But isn't it a bit Gryffindorish? Why is it a lion?"  
  
"It is a lion, Draco, because you love me."  
  
He tries to glare at me, but fails.  
  
"Yeah, I do."  
  
"Love you, too."   
  


*

  
  
**Saturday 9-03-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're sprawled together in a meadow, our half-naked bodies crushing the high leaves. It's raining hard. Thunders roar and lightings sparkle on our skin. The sky is a distant thing, though. As the rain pours on our locked bodies, we kiss and kiss and kiss, until our kisses make the sun rise.   
  
The morning is crisp and clear.  
  
"Seems our dreams are not a good source of meteorological forecasting, eh, Potter?"  
  
"We did foresee showers of kisses, though."  
  
"That we did. I'd hate for us to have been entirely wrong. Come here, love."  
  
It's only when we realize Ginny's catcalling that we resurface.  
  
Since the sun is shining, Professor Hooch suggests a Quidditch inter-House match, just for the fun of it. Not surprisingly, Draco and I end up being the Seekers of opposite teams.  
  
We utterly enjoy flying together, hovering close one to each other, almost knee to knee, as we lazily look for the Snitch.   
  
After more than an hour, we spot it at the same time and dive, our shoulders bumping. From the outside, I'm sure it looks like our old rivalry. I know it's a new kind of game as Draco sends me naughty images of his body in an attempt to make me lose concentration. I wiggle my arse at him in retaliation, distracting him enough that I'm able to catch the Snitch in the split second before his hand closes around mine.  
  
My team cheers, and I have to suppress the need to kiss Draco soundly on his startled mouth.  
  
A heated glance from him is enough to decide we'll not linger in the communal shower rooms. While every other player heads to the changing rooms, we sneak to our secret place.   
  
As we take our sweaty clothes off, Draco fills the tub. After flying in the cold air, dipping in the warm water is really soothing. I relax completely, cradled in Draco's arms, my back against his chest and my head lolling on his shoulders. Then he starts soaping my torso with careful hands and lingering touches, aiming downwards until his skilled fingers wrap around my straining erection, and the whole bathing-together thing is suddenly not relaxing anymore. I can feel his hardness pressed against the small of my back. He soaps my bits carefully, and then asks me to turn. I clumsily comply, and he spreads the soft foam on my back and arse. His touch lingers in a way that Incendio's my insides.  
  
"Stand up, now, love. We need to rinse."  
  
Water cascades down his body as he stands; he's a sight to behold, and I stare at him until he tugs my arm. He hugs me and takes hold of the showerhead, laughing.  
  
As he towels me dry, I follow the droplets of water sliding on his skin with my eyes, envying them a bit. Then I follow them with my tongue. Draco's not laughing anymore.  
  
As he dries his hair, I bounce on the mattress, laying spread-eagled on my back, staining the silk blankets with my still damp hair and not caring at all. Draco's eyes run appreciatively over my frame, and he swallows audibly.  
  
I raise my legs and spread them wider, letting him see my most private place.  
  
"Draco, need you here. Right now."  
  
"Not yet, love."  
  
"Why not? I want you. Judging by _this_ ," I say, stroking his rock-hard erection, "you want me just as much. It is the perfect moment. Why not now? Unlike last time, I'm not upset about girls swooning on you, nor about losing some game."  
  
"That's because you won, Potter. By cheating."  
  
"You cheated first!"  
  
"Sending you all my love isn't cheating..."  
  
"It wasn't your love, it was your cock's image."  
  
"Same thing."  
  
"Ditto. Give it here, then. I really want you to make love to me."  
  
"Why do you always want to make love after playing Quidditch? Does riding a broom arouse you this badly?"  
  
"Only the idea of riding _your_ broom, Dray. Won't you make my fly?"  
  
"I'd love to, believe me. I'm even suffering your silly jokes... Every time I see you like this... you know I dream of it as much as you do... In our dreams, it's the easiest thing. But real life is different. I don't want to hurt you. And it _will_ hurt. It's written everywhere, in the books Granger gave you, even in your Godfather's silly notebook: penetration will hurt."  
  
"I read the same books. It won't hurt if done with proper preparation and lubrication. We have lube, you have hands: we can manage both."  
  
"Harry..."  
  
"Come here. We'll take it slow. Stretch me a bit, add some fingers... at least try. I'll tell you if it's too much."  
  
"Will you?"  
  
"Promise. We're bonded, Draco. If I'm in pain, you'll feel it."  
  
Though still looking somewhat reluctant, Draco complies with my desires. I roll on the bed, to lie on my belly over a pillow, my arse raised and ready for him. He kneels between my legs, and unexpected kisses follow. The first touch of his tongue makes me jump, then I relax and allow him to lick and nibble and taste, amazed and thankful that he enjoys doing this to me.  
  
When his forefinger replaces his tongue, I moan in relief at having something hard fill me.  
  
When he adds a second finger, I clench down so hard, he yelps.   
  
"Dray, don't you dare pull out..."  
  
He doesn't, and after a while, the pumping and the scissoring of his fingers grows into white fire. My hips and my breath rise and fall at an impossible pace, meeting his thrusts. I need more of him. His fingertips graze something amazing inside, electrifying my nerves. Draco repeats the movement and I swear I see stars.   
  
"More...right there... Draco..."  
  
When the third finger is added, a stab of pain sears me, and Draco quickly withdraws. I relax and bemoan the loss at once.   
  
"Sorry, love. Too much?"  
  
I whimper, and he understands what I mean. Carefully, he eases two fingers back inside me, and I'm relieved that having them back only gives me pleasure.   
  
"Better, love?"  
  
I raise my hips to meet Draco's hand to let him know that yes, it is way better. He takes advantage of my movement to wrap his other hand around my cock. I don't need anything else, and the stars I've never stopped seeing since he stroked that amazing place deep inside me burst into supernovas.  
  
Draco lies down, covering my limp and shuddering body with his.   
  
A distant part of my mind lets me know I'm not feeling his hardness pressing on my back. I'm gathering my wits to ask him if he found what we just did so boring that his bits were uninterested, when he whispers in my ear.  
  
"Harry, love, do you have the slightest idea of how your insides feel? You're pure silk, burning silk, so hot and tight, and your muscles ripple just so... You look so gorgeous, stretched open around my fingers... I'm sorry if the third one hurt you. It's maddening how much I want to be inside you. I can't do it, but for a moment I almost... the idea alone was enough, and then you gripped my fingers..."  
  
"Dray?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"You're babbling. Let me sleep..."  
  
His kiss on my neck manages to convey both fondness and annoyance.  
  


*

  
  
**Sunday 10-03-2013**  
  
I wake from a dreamless sleep to find Draco's body still blanketing me.   
  
A quick Tempus lets me know it's only three o'clock in the morning. I know I should get up and go to my room, but I doubt I could move without dislodging Draco and waking him up. I doubt I could move, period. Furthermore, I don't really want to move. I'll leave in the morning: the common room will be empty at some time, and the Map will let me know when. Or I could just spend the day ensconced here with Draco. This is a wonderful idea.  
  
With a blissful sigh, I settle under Draco's weight and get back to sleep.  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 14-03-2013**  
  
In our dream, we send each other love letters across the classroom. Draco folds his into paper cranes as usual; I'm less skilled and can only make planes and boats. Our messages crowd the room, making concentrating on the lessons impossible for everyone. To avoid it, all the teachers allow us to sit together. We hold hands underneath the desk, and steal small kisses when they're turned away.  
  
Seems we both have an inner Hufflepuff after all. Somehow, I'd rather have Slytherin inside me, though. A certain blond Slytherin...  
  
Even while trying to follow Professor Flitwick's lesson, I can sense that Draco is upset. No paper crane lands on my desk with explanations, so I open my mind towards him, and he sends me images of cuddling together to calm me down. Nothing is terribly wrong, then, and I must simply wait for lunchtime: he will tell me face to face.  
  
After the morning lessons, knowing he won't want to tell me his news in front of the whole Gryffindor table, I secure us some food with a short detour to the Kitchens, I and head towards the door of the Great Hall to wait for him.   
  
As he arrives, Draco hugs me briefly and pecks my lips. This alone lets me know he's more worried than he wants to let on.   
  
"The Headmistress had an Owl from my parents today."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"Nothing, really. They requested my presence at the Manor this weekend."  
  
"Is that a bad thing? I mean... I'll miss you. But just the other day you complained about not seeing them since December. I know you miss them."  
  
"I only said that Father had always had a finer taste, and Mother would have been brilliant as fashion designer. Didn't you see what your Weasel was wearing?"  
  
"As if I don't know how to read in-between the lines of what you say aloud. And yes, that shade of orange makes me shudder."  
  
"See? We're soulmates. However, before I get more Hufflepuffish..."  
  
To make it short, he thinks his parents found a buyer for the Manor.   
  
"I don't think I'll ever be able to live there and be happy, not after everything that happened there. But it's always my home, you know, and having it sold to strangers..."  
  


*

  
  
Draco will leave in the early evening: Professor McGonagall will allow him to use the fireplace in her office to Floo straight to the Manor.  
  
As Draco has been excused from the afternoon lessons, I decide to skip Transfiguration as well, asking Ron to cover up for me. Since we got together, we've never been apart for more than a few hours, and I know it will be a long weekend without him. Spending the afternoon in our Secret Chamber and not in a classroom sounds very appealing.  
  
In the candlelight, Draco's pale skin almost shines like the silk linens he's sprawled on.  
  
I absolutely love having him like this, open and unguarded. I kiss every single square inch of his body. When I'm done, he's shuddering, gleaming with my saliva, and there's not a piece of him I didn't taste. I straddle him, pushing our cocks together and taking them both in my hand; Draco joins his own hand, intertwining our fingers. He smiles his sweetest, most wicked smile. His other hand settles on my cheek, and his tongue plunges into my mouth. I welcome it and trace my thumb on the head of his cock. Our kiss deepens, if possible, our tongues dancing together at the same slow rhythm of our hands. We both want this to last.  
  
"Draco, I want... I need..."  
  
"I know, love. I... yes! Like this..."  
  
Draco's blessed fingers slide inside my mouth, come out properly wet, and finally, finally, one of them slides inside my opening, where I truly need it. To be honest, I'd love to have Draco put something else inside me there, but he still insists we must wait. After a few strokes, another finger is added.   
  
I push down on Draco's hand and start convulsing almost immediately. I collapse on his chest, while he carefully pulls his fingers out. He grips my arse with both hands and pushes hard against my groin. As his breathing seems to stop altogether, I feel the warm flood of his semen spilling under my belly.  
  
We lay like this, glued by the juices of our pleasure, for what seems like a long time.  
  
After a quick cleaning spell, it's time to put our clothes back on. The loss of Draco's skin is almost unbearable.  
  


*

  
  
**Saturday, 16-03-2013**  
  
I miss Draco.  
  
I hope his meeting with his parents went well. He didn't send me any sign of distress through our bond, so maybe he's happy with the buyer of the Manor.  
  
I understand him, really. I don't think I'd like to live in Grimmauld Place, but I like owning the building, and I doubt Grimmauld Place means as much to me as the Manor means to Draco.  
  
I toss and turn in my bed, and I'm only able to relax when Draco sends me images of him lying naked in a small bed. I know he's in his childhood room. The furniture is pale green, and there are dragons painted on every wall. The dragons look at him, unsure about what to do with a grown-up boy. When Draco slowly starts stroking his hardening cock, all the dragons huddle in the darkest corner of the room, putting their paws on their eyes.   
  
I know Draco is thinking about my hand. With his tantalizing image etched in my mind, I sneak my hand inside my pants and only think of his hand. I know he can sense the moment my muscles clench down in sweet release.  
  
All is white, and I can sleep.  
  
I love being bonded to Draco.  
  


*

  
  
**Sunday, 17-03-2013**  
  
It's already half past nine, and Draco's still not here.  
  
I'm waiting for him in a niche near Professor McGonagall's office, since he'll arrive by Floo; I've been here, hidden under my Cloak for good measure, since immediately after dinner. It's been hours already.   
  
After my attempt at studying fails, I doze off for a while: the sound of steps coming closer brings me to attention.  
  
I check the Marauder's Map quickly: Draco is back.  
  
He comes straight for the niche: I barely have time to take off the Cloak when I'm engulfed in his arms. A deep, lingering kiss follows.  
  
I can feel him relaxing into our embrace, getting ready to disclose what happened.  
  
"It's like we imagined. My parents are giving the Manor away. They're not selling it, though. Father thinks the public image of Malfoys has been tarnished lately -- he's right, by the way -- so they are giving the Manor to the Minister for Magic, for free."  
  
"I see his point. A donation will make him appear less of an egotistical prat."  
  
"Potter, love, it's my father you're talking about."  
  
I decide to ignore his glare. "Anyway, what use will Kingsley Shaklebolt have for the Manor?"  
  
"He'll open a Pre-Hogwarts School for the Understanding of Muggles."  
  
"That's actually a smart idea. Promote understanding... Shacklebolt is a fine politician, isn't he?"  
  
"It was Mother who had the idea. She put it as a clause in the donation deed."  
  
"I've always thought she's the smartest of all Malfoys. Wait, wasn't she born a Black?"  
  
"You're dead, Potter."  
  
This holds true only if he can kill me with kisses. Maybe he can.  
  
"So they're giving the Manor to the Ministry. Where will they live?"  
  
"This is the bad news. They're moving to France. We've got some relatives there."  
  
"What about the good news?"  
  
"They made me spill everything about you. I felt like I was five again and confessing breaking some house rule."  
  
"How is it _good_?"  
  
"Mother said she's happy I managed to catch you, that I could not have found a better man. You know she thinks it."  
  
"As I said, I always liked your mother."  
  
"Always?"  
  
"Since she lied to Voldemort for me. That's about the same. What about your father?"  
  
"He said he's proud of me and of my choices."  
  
"I never thought I'd see the day when Lucius Malfoy would approve of his precious only heir shagging the Sav..."  
  
"We're not shagging."  
  
"Yet. Well then, of his precious heir being in love with the Sav..."  
  
I'm silenced quite forcefully by Draco's exploring tongue.   
  
"This is all. They approve of our relationship and are moving to France."  
  
I can sense something's amiss in his voice.  
  
"Are you worried they won't like it in France, or are you just sad they're going away?"  
  
"I know their decision is for the best. Father has an uncle near Paris. It's just... I've always been very close to Mother, and I'll miss her. I'll miss our piano lessons and her good taste in decorating, and..."  
  
"France is not that far away, Draco. With planes, you can be there in a few hours. I don't know if you'll be able to Apparate there, but Flooing or taking a Portkey is fast enough. It's not like you'll never see them again..."  
  
"Please do not explain what a plane is. You're probably right anyway. It's a good decision for them. I am just being selfish, am I not?"  
  
"You are entitled to be, sometimes. Now, allow me to take your mind off things that make you sad."  
  
I fall on my knees and lift his sweater, breathing into the soft skin of his abdomen, teasing his bellybutton with a flick of tongue before trailing my breath on the outline of his awakening hardness, mouthing him through the cloth.  
  
"I liked you better when you were an innocent..."  
  
"Like hell you did."  
  
I unzip him quickly.  
  
"I beg to differ. You should have noticed that I highly favoured..."  
  
I fill my mouth with his salty-sweet, hot, hard flesh -- my favourite lollypop.  
  
"Salazar! Please... again... more... love you..."  
  
Divesting Draco of his eloquence is even more rewarding than divesting him of clothes.  
  
As I swallow the proof of his climax, Draco's knees buckle, and he crumbles gracefully onto the floor, encircling me with arms that tremble slightly. We share slow, open-mouthed kisses, our tongues sliding together lazily, and we've entirely lost the when-and-where until a mewing sound startles us.   
  
"Well, well, Mrs Norris, what do we have here? Students out of bed after curfew, engaged in lewd behaviour. Boys! I'd deem appropriate to flog you senseless for this display, but the Headmistress is too soft. You'd be suspended, I think. Maybe even expelled. Get up, you two! To Professor McGonagall we go, right this minute. She won't be pleased with you two for waking her up in the middle of her sleep, oh no, Mrs. Norris, she won't be pleased at all."  
  
As we follow Mr. Filch towards the Headmistress' private rooms, I mentally kick myself for not waiting for Draco near the Slytherin Dungeons or in our Secret Chamber, for not going there straight away. I did not even think of it. Merlin, he really makes me forget about the world!  
  
"Headmistress, I caught Potter and Malfoy, out of bed. They were in a corridor, with their hands all over each other. Will you expel them?"  
  
"Of course not, Mr. Filch. I'll dock one hundred points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, though, for fighting and disregarding the curfew. Potter, Malfoy. I am very disappointed with you. Needing to be disciplined at this ungodly hour... I expected better from you. You are Eighth Years! I thought you were making an effort to get along!"   
  
Mr. Filch hastily corrects her. "No, Headmistress, you misunderstood. They weren't fighting. They were engaged in... lewd activities."   
  
Professor McGonagall looks suddenly and oddly relieved.   
  
"Was it so? Ten points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin, then, for inappropriate behaviour. But I must admit that I'd rather have those two particular students kissing each other instead of fighting. Fifty points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin for promoting inter-House unity."  
  
A strangled sound of surprise comes from Draco, and after a questioning look, I follow his gaze to Dumbledore's portrait. I can see the old wizard's eyes sparkling with mirth for a moment; as I blink, he leaves the frame. Wisely, Draco keeps his mouth closed, and so do I.  
  
Filch sounds outraged. "But Headmistress! How do you know they were kissing?"  
  
"I suspected."  
  
"And you didn't do anything. I beg your pardon, Headmistress, but this is not natural! Lucius' boy and Potter, together? It must be some spell, some dark magic. I heard rumours, you know, from Hufflepuff girls, that they were forced, that they can read each other's mind. The silly girls find it romantic..."  
  
"That's enough, Mr. Filch. I'll deal with the matter. You are dismissed."  
  
As Mr. Filch slams the door shut, still muttering with Mrs Norris, I sag on Draco's shoulder in relief: the caretaker gives me the creeps.  
  
"Potter, your budding relationship with Malfoy did not escape my notice. However, I hoped it was a natural evolution of the strong feelings you've always manifested towards each other."  
  
Draco pokes me with his elbow, and we stare at each other, disconcerted that everybody read hidden attraction in our past behaviour.  
  
"What Mr. Filch said, though, is worrying. Forced relationships never work out, and you two happen to share a magical bond we know precious little about. What if your hatred for each other was real, and you are now under the effect of the spell?"  
  
"Professor, it's true that we never got on before, but as you said..."  
  
Draco interrupts me, his features set. "I love Potter. I do. You may imagine how hard it is for me to admit it out loud to you."  
  
McGonagall smiles wearily. "I do not doubt the way you feel. But those feelings may be bond-induced, not real. It's not wise to trust feelings that only flourished after a bonding spell."  
  
I interrupt her. "As Draco said, Professor, these feelings... I've felt like this about him since long before we did the spell, only I didn't admit it to myself. Our love is for real."  
  
She does not look entirely persuaded. "Even if it's true and your feelings are genuine, what about the mind-reading issue?"  
  
"Nothing worrying," I hasten to answer, in what I hope is a reassuring way. "It's not proper mind-reading at all. We can simply send images to each other. We can't send words or talk into each other's mind, Professor. We can only share images and, erm, emotions..."  
  
"This sounds ominously like the connection you had with Voldemort's mind." She doesn't sound reassured in the slightest. "It is very alarming. It might even be dangerous. What about your sanity? Why didn't you report this straight away?  
  
"Exactly to avoid your exaggerate reaction, Minerva, I'm sure."  
  
Professor Snape's voice drawling from a previously empty frame makes me flinch in reflex. Draco hides a smile as Professor McGonagall straightens her already straight back and gazes at the portrait sternly.  
  
"Nice of you to make an appearance, Severus. I've wanted your opinion about this since December."  
  
With this, she digs the letter my mystery donor sent me from the depths of a drawer, and reads it aloud to Professor Snape. He keeps his face impassive throughout the reading.  
  
"I can assure you the spell has been crafted by a proficient wizard and entails no danger whatsoever. The bond does not create emotions. The kind of relationship Potter wants to pursue with my former pupil is none of my interests at the moment. Whatever their feelings, I fear they are quite authentic."  
  
Professor McGonagall is still unconvinced. "But what about using the bond to share images? Last time we heard of such a thing, Mr. Potter was being used by Voldemort..."  
  
"Were Potter more apt at Occlumency, none of that would have happened. If they do not wish to share their emotions, I strongly suggest they shield their minds. I can almost taste their hormones from here. Potter was never brilliant at restraining himself, was he?"  
  
Despite the hidden insults, I'm grateful for his words, and wish she would believe him.  
  
Apparently, she wants to. "Are you sure, Severus? Are they safe?"  
  
"Always."  
  
Cape billowing, he disappears from his frame again.  
  
After this rather dramatic exit, Professor McGonagall dismisses us.  
  
"It's settled then. Malfoy, I hope the meeting with your parents went well. Try not to be caught out of bed again. Have a pleasant night."  
  
This is the moment we decide we'll spend every night together in our Secret Chamber, consequences be damned.  
  


*

  
  
**Monday, 18-03-2013**  
  
Waking up entangled in Draco's arms is wonderful. Sneaking out of our Secret Room and out of the Slytherin Dungeons in time for Transfiguration is less so.  
  
If we really plan to use that room instead of the dorms like we promised each other last night, we must find a way to get in and out easily.  
  
After lessons, I spend a lot of time checking the Marauder's Map for secret passages and back corridors, to no avail. I even try to read bits of _Hogwarts: A History_ , looking for old blueprints and descriptions. I'm still engrossed in my research when a kiss is placed on the top of my head.   
  
"Harry, love, you don't need to pour over that old piece of parchment."  
  
"Did you change your mind, then, about spending the nights together?"  
  
"Not at all."  
  
"Then what are you planning to do? Going on sneaking under Merlin's tapestry will get us caught sooner or later!"  
  
"I happen to have a plan, Potter."  
  
"Do you? Pray tell."  
  
"In your opinion, that Room of Requirement of yours will change into an antechamber to Salazar's old room, if asked? And will it stay that way until we are ready to leave?"  
  
"What? Draco, you're a genius! I think it may work... As long as we don't exit the Room of Requirement, it will stay like we asked."  
  
"Problem solved, then. We'll enter our chamber through the Room of Requirement. The seventh floor corridor is seldom crowded after all."  
  
"It's brilliant. _You_ 're brilliant. But what if someone else tries to use the Room while it's our corridor?"  
  
"What does usually happen if the Room is in use by someone and you want to use it as well?"  
  
"Don't you remember about the time we came upon Ginny and Blaise?"  
  
"I wish I could Obliviate that memory... But in that sad occasion we were looking for the same thing they were, namely, a bed. I doubt other students would ask for a passage to our room."  
  
"Then I guess the Room would stay closed and nobody else would be able to use it."  
  
"You have your answer. Does the idea of hoarding the Room for ourselves bother you and your Gryffindorishness?"  
  
"Less than you may expect. Oh, Draco, you just had the best idea ever! I could kiss you!"  
  
"By all means, please do."  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 21-03-2012**  
  
I wake up in the middle of the night, when the dream of Draco spooning me becomes so intense, I can actually feel the hardness of his cock trapped between my arse-cheeks. Waking up does not change the feeling. I'm still drowsy, and my brain lacks blood, and it takes me a while to figure out it's because Draco _is_ spooning me, and his hard cock _is_ trapped between my arse-cheeks.  
  
I push against him tentatively. Draco moans in his sleep, and the hand cupping my cock tightens in reflex, but he does not wake up. The almond oil we used last evening is still slick on Draco's groin, and the slow slide of his hardness against my crack feels more than nice. I move again, arching my back, and that is when I feel it: the tip of Draco's cock presses fully against my hole for the first time. I eagerly repeat the movement, loving how hot and smooth this feels compared to his fingers. I'd die to take him in, but I want him to be awake and willing for our first time making love, and he's still oddly convinced we should wait. Therefore, I content myself with rubbing against him and pushing down just enough to feel the pressure build up. I come and drift back to sleep at the same time.  
  


*

  
  
The alarm startles us both. Draco stretches himself lazily, his lean body a vision to behold.  
  
"Morning, love. I had the strangest little dream... it wasn't visual, it was more of a tactile dream. There was warmth and you were... you weren't sleeping at all, were you?"  
  
"Guilty. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to wake you up... not all of you, anyway."  
  
He tosses a pillow at me, and we hastily get ready for breakfast.  
  
We've just set foot outside the Room of Requirements -- Draco's idea to use it as a corridor has worked perfectly so far -- when a screech pierces my left ear and a hand closes on it, twisting painfully. I yelp.  
  
"Harry! I _knew_ it was you two... How dare you? Three nights in a row?"  
  
Draco jumps to my rescue. "Stop maiming the Saviour, Weaslette!"  
  
"Ginny, please!" She lets go of my ear and I look at her reproachfully. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"I'm talking about the Room of Requirements being unavailable, no matter the request. A bed, a bathtub, someplace to make love in, a room where we can be alone, a Muggle Hotel, a Victorian brothel, a replica of the Manor... we tried every possible request, to no avail."  
  
"Ginny, we..."  
  
"Do not bother denying it! Blaise said Draco hasn't slept in his bed once since he came back, and Ron told me you've haven't been in the dorms either... What's up? Where are you going?"  
  
Draco tugs my hand. "Harry, don't..."  
  
"Come on, Draco," I address him softly. "She'll nag me until I spill, so I might as well tell her right away and spare me the annoyance."  
  
Ginny grins victoriously. "You're getting wiser, Harry. Tell me..."  
  
I do, reluctantly.   
  
"Cool! Trust Harry to find all the impossible, legendary, lost rooms in the Castle..."  
  
"Ginny, you can't talk about it to anyone..." I hasten to add. "Well, maybe Hermione and Ron..."  
  
"And Blaise. You know, we're getting along just fine. I won't tell anyone else, if..."  
  
Draco looks down his nose at her. "Weaslette, are you blackmailing us?"  
  
"I'm negotiating, Malfoy. You must be familiar with the word. It's not nice that you keep the Room all to yourselves..."  
  
"Gin, I..."  
  
"I mean the Room of Requirement!" she interrupts me. "So when you ask for your corridor, ask also for a small bedroom accessible from that corridor, and your secret will be safe."  
  
"Otherwise?" Draco drags the word out.  
  
I prod him gently with my shoulder. "You don't want to go there, Draco, believe me."  
  
"Trust your boyfriend, Malfoy. The Headmistress won't like the Room of Requirement being used like that, not to mention the important historical discovery you're not divulging... Hermione will have your hides..."  
  
"We have an agreement, then." Draco relents.  
  
"See, Harry," Ginny says, magnanimous in her triumph. "Malfoy's not that hard to handle."  
  
"I can assure you, Weaslette, that when Harry's the one handling me, I'm more than hard enough."  
  


*

  
  
**Friday 22-03-2013**  
  
The best way to wake up in the morning is with Draco's naked skin on my skin, with Draco's morning wood pressed against me, with Draco's skilled mouth sucking me. The best way to wake up in the morning is with Draco, period.  
  
Our sleeping arrangement suits us greatly, and nobody complained. I guess Ginny kept her word, then. Only Ron's face getting redder than usual at our arrival at the breakfast table lets me know he shares the knowledge.  
  
"Hey, mate, you all right?"  
  
"Just dandy, Ron. I'm very happy with my new comforter, thank you."  
  
Draco turns a beautiful shade of pale pink, and Ron splutters. Hermione sighs.  
  
"Never heard of behaving like adults, you two?"  
  
Ginny chooses this moment to drop her bomb. "It's been exactly three months after you performed the spell... How's your bondage thing going, boys?"  
  
I almost choke on my Pumpkin Juice, while Draco smirks, his confidence back in place.  
  
"The Weaslette is nosy, isn't she? Perhaps she thinks I use our school ties to bind you to the bed and have my wicked way with you..."  
  
"Do go on, Malfoy," Ginny encourages. "I meant the being bonded thing, but if you're in the sharing mood..."  
  
"Ginevra, please!" Scolds Hermione. "You meant exactly what you said. I don't think..."  
  
"Come on, Hermione! Let me have my fun. Although I must say that riling those two up is way too easy."  
  
Draco smirks. "Since you painted such a vivid image in my mind, Weaslette, I must admit that I quite like it."  
  
"I didn't put in your mind anything that wasn't there already, Malfoy," Ginny remarks.  
  
"Yeah, shouldn't it be Harry's job to put things in the Ferret's mind?" Ron never knows when to shut up.  
  
"Whereas Malfoy's job is what?" Ginny retorts in dry tones. "Ronnikins, you don't want to go there."  
  
"I do not want anybody else going there," I try to interrupt the embarrassing conversation. "Why are you discussing my love life anyway?"  
  
"That is because it is interesting, Potter, my love."  
  
"But... but... Draco, would you really tie me up with our school ties?"  
  
"Why shouldn't I?"  
  
His smirk is back in full force, and his eyes are unreadable mirrors: I really don't know if he's serious.  
  


*

  
  
**Saturday 23-03-2013**  
  
In our dream, I'm chained to the bedposts, spread-eagled and open. I know I am Prometheus. Draco is the eagle sent to eat me alive. His face holds a predatory smile as he bends down over my middle-section, open-mouthed. It's not my liver he feasts on. This will not stop me from playing with fire, either.  
  
Draco as a bird of prey... I wake up feeling like a bunny, my heart pounding, ensnared in his claws as he swallows me. Can bunnies get as aroused as I am?  
  
At breakfast, Hermione is discussing Muggle mythology with Draco. Apparently, she lent him a book, and that is where our shared dream came from.  
  
"I'm not sure, Granger, if it was a fitting punishment. Potter, my love, don't you find it fascinating, the story of the man who stole a candle from the Gods and was eaten alive? Playing with fire is dangerous..."  
  
I blush and whisper into his ear.  
  
"I'll give you playing with fire, Draco!"  
  
Mythology can be a double-edged weapon. I have an idea.  
  


*

  
  
After dinner I excuse myself from company, leaving Draco to his almost usual game of chess with Ron, and go to our room to arrange everything for my set-Draco-on-fire plan.  
  
As he enters the room about an hour later, he finds me laying on the bed, shoulders and knees pressed into the mattress, my left wrist and ankle bound together with my Gryffindor tie, the right ones bound in the same way with one of Draco's ties -- it needed quite a bit of coordination and, in the end, a wandless spell. My arse is up in the air, readied by careful finger-work and almost dripping with lube.   
  
Draco's breath is somewhat erratic, and I glance over my shoulder to see utter surprise on his face.  
  
"Harry, love, what are you doing?"  
  
"I was waiting for you. I stole your fire. Come take it back. Take me. Set me aflame."  
  
"What? Are you sure you feel fine? You sound confused..."  
  
His cool hand presses on my forehead. This is not going as I planned.  
  
"I'm perfectly fine! Or I will be, as soon as I'll have you inside me."  
  
"So is this show meant as an offer?"  
  
"You got it in one."  
  
"Are you daft, Potter? What were you thinking? Oh, please! I can't talk to your arse! Relashio!"  
  
The ties come loose, and I reluctantly sit up to face him. He hurries to hug me.  
  
"Love, don't be upset. You don't need to display yourself like this..."  
  
"Yes, I do! Draco, I want you. I love you. I want to make love with you. Why are you rejecting me?"  
  
"I'm scared, okay? It will hurt you! I've never done it before..."  
  
"And I'm grateful for it. But you don't need to worry about hurting me... Draco, I'm learning how to relax my muscles. I've had your hand. I can take your cock. I know I can. I don't understand why you don't want to at least try..."  
  
"It's not like that, Harry. It's... I heard V-Voldemort bragging about doing it to Bellatrix, more than once... they were a sick pair, the both of them. Hurting her appealed to him, and I guess she liked pain, but... it was revolting... the way he humiliated her, how she always came back for more... I don't want to think how..."  
  
"Draco, I... I'm sorry..."  
  
"Shush, love, I'm fine now. It's just... I really want you, I can dream of taking you and it is wonderful, but the idea of doing it for real scares me. What if I hurt you? What if I like to be inside you so much that I won't care if it hurts you? I don't want to be like him, but what if shame and guilt are not enough to prevent me from taking my pleasure? You'll be disgusted, rightly so, and you'll reject me, and I don't want to lose you..."  
  
"I'll never reject you, Draco. You're not like that. You are already caring, don't you realize? If it will hurt a bit, so be it. I'll bear the pain. It's not the same thing. Draco, you can't compare Voldemort tormenting your Aunt to us making love. I understand your worry, but it's ungrounded. I'm more than willing. I trust you. I trust you to thrust into me. I need you inside me, Draco, I need to feel your cock filling me with your love."  
  
He makes a strangled noise.  
  
"I need it as well. I need to make you feel how much I love you. I'm just not ready yet."  
  
"Dray?"  
  
"Mmmh?"  
  
"I really hope you'll be ready soon."  
  
"Yeah, me too..."  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 28-03-2012**  
  
Draco will leave tomorrow in the morning: he's taking a Portkey to France, to spend Easter with his parents. He'll stay there for a week. I'll stay at school with Ron and Hermione: N.E.W.T.s are nearing, and we need to study. I think it's going to be one of the worst holidays ever.  
  
As Draco readies his trunk, I roll on our bed, inhaling as deeply as I can. I don't know what will be worse: sleeping here without him, or sleeping in my dorm without his scent surrounding me.  
  
"You aren't sniffing my pillow, love, are you?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Salazar, Potter! Don't be like this, please. I'll miss you too."  
  
"I wonder... will we be able to sense each other through our bond, or is France too far away?"  
  
"I honestly don't know. We'll find out. But since I'm still here..."  
  
I end up kneeling on Draco's lap, his cock in my hand alongside mine, his fingers moving inside me. He's buried so deep I think I'll still feel it tomorrow. It feels amazingly good.  
  
Afterwards, I spend the night looking at his sleeping face, barely stroking his hair. He looks so peaceful...  
  


*

  
  
**Friday 29-03-2013**  
  
A kiss, arms refusing to let go, whispered "I love you's", and Draco is gone.  
  
For the whole day, the back of my mind is filled with the warm sensation of his presence: he's elated at the idea of seeing his parents, would have loved to have my company in this trip, misses me. I know when he arrives at his Father's Uncle, but our bond is so strained I can't get much more than distant feelings. Images cannot travel this distance, apparently.  
  
As I take up my Potions book, I ready myself for a long, cold week.  
  


*

  
  
**Thursday 04-04-2013**  
  
My Draco-less week goes pretty well, on the whole. I spend a lot of time with my friends, even if it's for studying. We laugh and joke like in the old times. We eat insane amounts of chocolate, it being Easter and everything. We write essays. We prepare potions. We transfigure things. We practice spells. With Neville, I tend to plants. With Ron, I train in Quidditch. With Hermione, I talk about the bond and how it feels and works, while she takes notes for her Charms research. With Ginny, I talk about Draco.   
  
Without Draco, I sleep hugging the plush dragon he gave me after our first month together.  
  


*

  
  
It's just after dinner. I'm pondering the benefits of reading an Advanced Defence magazine that Andromeda lent me against the gratitude Hermione would feel if I'd take her place at the chessboard. Then I'm flooded with images and warmth. Eyes of molten silver, hair like pale gold, a spread of creamy skin, graceful bones, firm flesh, long limbs, coiling snakes. Draco is back.  
  
I rush to our room, and I welcome him in with everything I've got.  
  


*

  
  
  
**Saturday 06-04-2013**  
  
In our dream, Draco is far away and I can't feel him in my mind. I wake up screaming, to find myself cradled in his arms, as he strokes my head and back, murmuring soothingly.  
  
Held in the warmth of his body, I slowly relax and get back to sleep.  
  
This is the last Hogsmeade weekend of the year, and I could burst out of my skin with the excitement. It'll be like a date with Draco, even if our friends will come along to spare us from the undesired attention we'd draw alone. Even Blaise agreed that Ginny and he would come with us: this should reinforce the idea of inter-House unity, were some gossiper to see us together.  
  
The walk to Hogsmeade is nice: the weather is just pleasant, and we chatter amicably as Luna picks up flowers from the path.  
  
Our first stop is Honeydukes, where Hermione waits for us all tapping her foot. "More chocolate? Guys, at least take some spearmint gums. Eating so many sweets is not good for the health of your mouth."  
  
We lose Neville and Luna at Dogweed and Deathcap, where Nev can gladly spend the whole day without noticing.  
  
At Tomes and Scrolls, Draco and Hermione peruse every shelf, pouring over old tomes; I check the Quidditch section with Ron and Ginny, but we don't find anything new. Blaise hides in a corner, and Ginny fishes him out later with his arms full of chick-lit novels, that he claims are a gift to Ginny herself. Draco buys _The magical word - Selected poems_ , and I hide my smile into his mouth.   
  
We avoid Madam Rosmerta's pub because Draco doubts he'd be allowed to enter, not even on my side. Therefore, we share a nice cup of cocoa at Madam Puddifoot's, where Ron shows Hermione how good chocolate is for one's mouth, in detail and with a great amount of tongue. Ginny makes gagging noises, and I think only Blaise's intervention silences her. I'm not certain about it, because I'm really, really busy with Draco's lips at the moment.  
  
After the chocolate, both Ginny and Ron insist on paying a visit to Zonko's Joke Shop. As soon as we're there, we stare flabbergasted at the new Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sign, as Ginny shouts: "Surprise!"   
  
Seeing that George is expanding his trade is unexpected but good. Draco is a bit reluctant to follow us in, fearing he won't be welcome, but I persuade him. The visit goes better than expected. George is happy to see us all, and behaves in a very civil way towards Draco. When Draco thanks him for the thoughtful gift he and his family gave me for Christmas, George winks and his face splits open in the broadest grin since the end of the war.  
  
After this pleasant meeting, Ginny really wants to go to Gladrags Wizardwear: she's the only one interested in that shop, so we part ways, leaving her and a somewhat perplexed Blaise to shop for clothes.  
  
We wander around for a while, and then Hermione confesses she hoped to have her hair cut today, alongside with Ron, whose head resembles a fire in a haystack. Ron protests that they should stay with us, but Draco decides we'll be fine, and that we'll be going back to Hogwarts straight away. We leave a reluctant Ron and a happy Hermione at the Hairdressing salon, and head towards Hogwarts.  
  
On our way back, we chat and hold hands and share chocolates.   
  
Draco says something silly, and I'm leaning him on a fence to kiss him properly, when a shrill voice that I know and despise startles us.  
  
"Who would have thought it possible? Harry Potter, engrossed in a public kiss! Harry, dear boy, why don't you tell me everything about your budding romance? My readers will be eager to have news about your life..."  
  
Draco looks her up and down with clear distaste, taking in the lime green leather outfit and the glossy pink lipstick. "We've got no business with you, madam. I strongly suggest you to leave Potter alone."  
  
Skeeter smiles her most nauseatingly sweet smile.  
  
"Bless me, if it isn't the Malfoy boy. It's amazing news. I heard gossip, of course. My sources inside Hogwarts said... I did not believe it to be possible! Oh, it will make front page for sure. Harry, when did you realize you are gay? You were with that bushy-haired girl at the Triwizard Tournament, then you had a fling with the read-headed girl... You must tell me everything."  
  
"I must not do anything of the sort, Skeeter. Stop tormenting me. Why don't you fly away?"  
  
"What an awful way to see my work! Harry, dear, I'm not _tormenting_ you for my own sake. You must understand , the readers need to know, and it's my duty... I've got so many questions! Since when are you two together? Who made the first step? Which one of you tops in the bed-chamber?"  
  
Draco's face never reddens in anger, but he has a healthy, rosy blush on his cheeks as he answers her, less glacially than he'd probably like. "How dare you, you nosy, interfering, little..."  
  
I complete his sentence: "...bug. A cockroach, that's what she is. Let go, Draco, she's not worth it."  
  
Skeeter looks at us over the frame of her glasses. "I take it you won't agree to an interview, then?"  
  
"She's smarter than she looks, Harry, isn't she?"  
  
She makes a displeasured movement with her head, her curls barely bouncing with the motion. "And you are not amenable to have some pictures taken?"  
  
Draco corrects himself, "I take it back, she's really, really thick-headed."   
  
"I understand. Did I say I was interested in this budding romance? How mistaken I was! Clearly, something dark is going on here. Our Saviour, the Golden Boy, has been perverted by an ex-Death Eater."  
  
This has me staring at her in utter incomprehension. "What? Skeeter, what are you babbling about?"  
  
"Let's face it, dear. You must be under Imperius. How could you possibly allow yourself to suck faces with this scum otherwise?"  
  
I am seething with rage; Draco strokes my back in slow circles, soothingly. He is the one who answers, "Are you blackmailing us? We have to give you an interview and allow you to take pictures, or what?"  
  
"I knew Lucius' boy would be more amenable. You'll find it's in your interest to second me, or..."  
  
"Or?" I echo weakly, not liking where this conversation is going in the slightest.  
  
"I think the Minister for Magic will be interested in discovering the use of an Unforgivable Curse, by a pardoned ex-Death Eater, no less..."  
  
This is more than I can stand. "Stop it, Skeeter! You wouldn't dare! You have dirty secrets as well, and I know them."  
  
Her voice sounds like poisoned honey. "I took my Animagus licence two months ago, Harry dear, if that's what you're hinting about. I can't wait to start writing my piece. It will be amazing. First page, for sure. It will sell out in an hour!"  
  
A small, iridescent bug flies away before we can answer.  
  
Our walk back to the castle is subdued, as I tell Draco everything about my former encounters with the nasty journalist. To be honest, I'm more worried for him than for me. In a way, I'm already used to her defamatory articles; it's Draco's reputation that's at stake here. Therefore, I do my best to reassure him.  
  
"Don't worry, Draco. Even if she came clean and registered her Animagus form, I doubt that she admitted to using it for years... She'll write her article, but will the Minister take it seriously? I doubt it, he holds Skeeter in low enough esteem. Let's say she files a formal report of Unbreakable Curse use. We'll be probably called to the Ministry, but Shaklebolt is a reasonable man; he'd believe me over her. Even if it comes to a trial, you'll come out clean."  
  
I can see alarm in his face: one trial was enough. I hasten to reassure him.  
  
"It won't come to that. They will probably check your wand, just to make sure you never cast Imperius. I can throw that one off, by the way."  
  
"You can _what_? Still, it doesn't matter. The suspicion that I cast it would be enough. If it's not the Imperius Curse, they'll accuse me of some other dark trick."   
  
His voice is bitter and resigned.  
  
"I don't think so, Draco. Not many things can forge love. I'll probably be tested for Amortentia, but in the end they'll be convinced that our feelings are our own."  
  
"You're really naïve, Potter. I love you... Don't you know how the world goes by now? I don't deserve the happiness I've found with you, they'll never believe..."  
  
"We will make them believe."  
  
Over the dinner table, I share the whole Skeeter-situation with my friends. Hermione regrets leaving us alone -- even if her new haircut suits her greatly- and not crushing the nasty beetle when she had the occasion. She otherwise agrees it will all deflate with gossip, some Howler from the _Prophet_ 's readers and a chat with Shacklebolt. Nothing I can't face, and Draco's name will come out clean. Luna offers to have her father publish something on the _Quibbler_ , to let the world know I've found my true love at last, but in the end we agree to simply wait and see what Skeeter will do.  
  


*

  
  
I'm lying down beside Draco, with his cold feet sneaking over my calves, as the most worrying question bubbles in the front of my mind.  
  
"Draco, we're bonded."  
  
"Now you notice..."  
  
"I mean... how will the Minister take such a new?"  
  
"You tell me. You're the one in friendly terms with him, after all."  
  
I can tell from his glacial tone that he's really, really worried now. I try to be level-headed, not that it's my strong point. "Let's use reason. We're bonded, true, but we weren't forced to."  
  
"Yet we didn't know that performing the spell would result in a bond between us. Nor do we know who gave us the spell in the first place."  
  
"But Professor Snape said the spell had no influence on our feelings, remember? Do you think we can bring his portrait with us, if it comes to that? Will he speak for us?"  
  
"And since when is Severus' word respected in the Ministry?" He sounds bitter.  
  
"He was one of Hogwarts' Headmasters, and a hero to boot."  
  
"Almost nobody knows about the last bit. Many people still think he's a traitor. Idiots, the lot of them!" He inhaled loudly, shaking his head in resignation. "No, I think it's best not to mention the bond, at all."  
  
"Won't it be worst if they find out later? It's not a secret among our professors..."  
  
"Damn, you're right. We'll tell the Minister and his lackeys about the bond, and say that it didn't change our feelings toward each other. They probably won't believe us. Want to know what they'll do next?"  
  
I nod, and he goes on. "They'll try to break the bond, claiming that if our feelings are true, it won't change anything."  
  
"But... they can't." I'm alarmed. "And I don't want them to try..."  
  
"Me neither, Harry, believe me. Tampering with bonds is dangerous, and I fear the consequences."  
  
He strokes my face, as if making sure I'm still here.  
  
I won't allow anybody to... "Draco, what can they do to break us apart? Can we do something to prevent it?"  
  
He ponders the question. "If we have to tell them about the bond, they'll want to read the letters. I don't remember the precise words, but wasn't the future usefulness of the knives mentioned in it?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Well, then, they'll probably need the blades to rescind our bond." His voice is firm. "If we destroy them, we should be safe."  
  
"But how can we do it? I doubt Reducto or Confringo will work, if they are powerful magic artefacts as you seem to believe."  
  
"Salazar, Harry! We'll use a Basilisk's tusk, or Gryffindor's sword, or your impressive magical skill. You managed to destroy, what, four Horcruxes?"  
  
"Five, actually, if you do not count Nagini, but I had help..."  
  
"As I was saying, you managed to destroy five Horcruxes, I doubt two silly magical blades will trouble you." Having a plan is clearly helping him face the situation, and he sounds like his snarky, self-assured self again.  
  
"I hope you're right. When will we do it? My knife is still in my trunk, in Gryffindor's dorm..."  
  
"Mine is under the mattress, in my dorm as well. We'll do it tomorrow. Hug me now, Harry, I'm cold."  
  
Warming him up is not hard at all. Once his skin has recovered his warmth, other things are.  
  


*

  
  
**Sunday 07-04-2013**  
  
In our dream, we're attacked by a swarm of green, shiny beetles. The buzz of the insects is deafening, and their wings cloud our view. Fumbling in the mass of little bodies, I reach out for Draco's hand. The moment he grabs it, I'm flooded with relief. Light bursts out from our Constellation Marks, and the beetles burn. We collapse into each other's arms. Draco's mouth never tasted so sweet.  
  
We wake up earlier than usual. Worry is still nagging my brain: what if we won't be able to destroy the blades? After breakfast, we hurry to our dorms to retrieve them.  
  
I reach Draco with my Chocolate Frog's Box as he's sitting on our bed rummaging in a carved wooden box full of silky bits and shiny things. He catches my perplexed look.  
  
"My cuff-link holder. Did you really place your knife in _that_?"  
  
I send him an offended glance. "Why not? It's a safe place..."  
  
As I open my box, Draco produces a folded parchment.  
  
"Here, I wrapped my blade inside the letter..."  
  
To our surprise, the object I fish from my cardboard box is not a knife; neither is the one that falls on the floor clinking as he unfolds the letter. Draco picks it up, and we stare in puzzlement at the two metal circles on our palms, noticing the details.  
  
My knife has turned into a platinum ring, the colour of Draco's hair; Draco's blade has changed into a blackish metal ring, the colour of my hair. As we study the rings, we discover they are engraved. Mine says _Heart of the Dragon_ , Draco's one bears _Heart of the Lion_ carved inside.  
  
I meet Draco's bewildered eyes, which are resonating with the same question I want to ask: what does this mean?  
  
"Draco, do you remember the letter mentioning rings?"  
  
"Not at all. Let me re-read it. Where's yours, by the way?"  
  
"McGonagall kept it. How come you have yours?"  
  
"I picked it up from the desk when Professor Flitwick entered."  
  
I blink at him, amazed at his nerve.  
  
As we read together, we realize that the text is completely different from the one we read in December.   
  


> "My dear Draco,
> 
> If you are reading this parchment, one of the following circumstances occurred.
> 
> One, you are not grateful for the spell gifted to you and plan to undo its consequences, using the knife to rescind the bond. In this case, you will fail.
> 
> Two, you found your happiness in the bond the spell helped you to forge, but you fear someone will attempt to separate you from your stars, and you want to destroy the knife to prevent it.
> 
> I pride myself in my aptitude in reading people, and foretell the latter is true.
> 
> I am in the position to reassure you: the blade turned into a ring when you admitted in your heart that you've always wanted that particular bond. You'll find the bond itself springs from a kind of Magic more primal and powerful than my spells, and that no external force can sever it.
> 
> The ring is merely to be used as a token, as it is not enchanted.
> 
> I wish you a good life. Both of you."

  
  
We spend a while gazing into each other's eyes, searching for answers that aren't there: who sent us the spell? Why? What does he know about our life and choices? How did the letter change? How did the knives turn into rings? Then we stumble upon the answer to an unasked question, and Draco's fingertips graze the palm of my hand, as he takes the platinum ring and spins it around.  
  
"Harry, my love."  
  
"Mmmh?"  
  
"Will you wear this?"  
  
I can only nod, and swallow a knot in my throat as the cold metal slips over my ring finger.  
  
"And you, Draco? Will you wear the other one?"  
  
He smiles and opens his hand: I pick up the dark ring and place it on his finger.  
  
We kiss like we just invented kissing.  
  
"Harry... this is the moment. I'm ready. I want to make love to you, right now."  
  
"Now... Dray, yes. I want..."  
  
We struggle with our clothes, getting only half naked in our eagerness to feel each other. Our lips clash. Draco Accioes the lube and loosens me up with quick but careful fingers.  
  
I lay on my belly, and he makes me turn over, because he wants to be able to look into my eyes. I remember reading that doing it lying on one's back may be more difficult, but it's a distant thought easily shaken away.  
  
"I'm fine, Draco, now... just take me."  
  
He does, in agonizing slowness. It hurts, and stings, and splits me apart. It doesn't matter. Draco feels my clenching muscles, sees my grimace, and freezes on the spot.  
  
As I relax, things get better. I lift my hips minutely towards Draco, and he starts rocking slowly, gently, restraining himself. Words are out of my grasp, and I can only murmur his name, and _yes_ , and _love you_ , and _more_ , as our pace speeds up and I can feel every delicious inch of him sliding inside me, being pulled out and blessedly pushed in again, over and over.  
  
I open myself for Draco, like my first Golden Snitch opened up at my lips' touch. It seems the Resurrection Stone is his cock, buried deep inside me. I sure feel immortal right now.   
  
As I get used to his sweet invasion, I raise my legs and try to spread them further, granting him better access. The angle changes, and he hits a brilliant spot inside me. I moan and thrust helplessly forward, and he repeats the motion once, twice. It is too much. As I come, I can feel my arse clenching down on Draco's cock, gripping it so hard it must hurt him. It could be, from the strangled sounds he's making. I know it's not, as a warm flood fills me and Draco's arms give way and he lands heavily on my chest. We lay like this from what seems a long time, waiting for our breath to return to its regular pace.  
  
As he pulls carefully out, it feels as though my innards are following him, like he's fishing my heart out of my hole. I whimper. The ghost sensation of having him inside does not leave me.  
  
"Harry, did I hurt you?"  
  
"Not at all... a bit. At first. It felt amazing, afterwards. Don't you dare regret it! I feel fine. More than fine. Maybe a bit sore. I love you."  
  
"Love you too. You don't have idea... so hot, so tight... you feel like coming home... No pain, are you sure?"  
  
I am, but he still checks that I'm not bleeding, and spreads carefully a generous dose of soothing balm on my abused bits.  
  
I fall asleep while he's still stroking me, utterly exhausted.  
  


*

  
  
**Monday 08-04-2013**  
  
I wake up alone, missing Draco's warmth beside me. It feels so empty, my body, after stretching wide to accommodate him. I can still feel the slickness down there, the burning pathway Draco carved for himself; I'm still clenching around the memory of his hardness. I feel a bit sore, but nothing as bad as I feared. The balm has done its work, then.  
  
I don't really have the time to worry about why Draco left me here alone after what we shared that he's back, with a tray in his hands.  
  
"I thought you'd be hungry. Are you?"  
  
"I'm famished. Not sure treacle tart would do..."  
  
His face falls.  
  
"...but you brought here what I need all the same."  
  
His puzzlement disappears as I grab the hem of his sweater and pull: he sits down on the bed and I quench my cravings into his mouth.  
  
We end up sprawled on the bed, with Draco laying on his back and me straddling him. His hands are everywhere on my naked, burning skin. His clothes are still on and I'm chafing against them. I wave my hand signalling him to take them off, and they disappear.  
  
"Stripping me wandless, love? Are you in a hurry?"  
  
"Maybe I am."  
  
I welcome the feel of his hard flesh under mine.   
  
Draco retrieves the pot of honey-scented lube from the bedside table and coats us both, gently squeezing our cocks together.   
  
Still, rubbing against each other is not nearly enough, not after what we did last night. I take the situation in my hands - or not in my hands at all: I raise forward and lower myself quickly down, sheathing Draco completely into my flesh with a quick thrust downwards. It's easier this time: my muscles are still loose and relaxed from yesterday.  
  
Draco makes a strangled noise of surprise, and I lean down to kiss him, utterly enjoying the pleasure of being filled by him, again, of having him inside me, again.  
  
"I feel so silly now..."  
  
"Why, Draco? You feel... yes, more... like this... love, you feel wonderful!"  
  
"For my fears... We could have made love months ago..."  
  
"Told you so."   
  
"... and to think you begged me for it..."  
  
"Draco?"  
  
"Yes, love?"  
  
"Am I doing something wrong?"  
  
"Of course not. Harry, you're perfect."  
  
"Then why are you still able to talk?"  
  
It turns out he isn't, after all.  
  
We're very, very late for Transfiguration, this morning.  
  


*

  
  
**Tuesday 9-04-2012**  
  
In our dream, Draco's cock is buried so deep inside me that not only does it make me see stars, the stars I see are moving. We're under a shower of meteors. Constellations spin and turn in time with Draco's unhurried thrusts. The Dragon coils towards the Lion. The Lion raises his hips in offer; the Dragon takes him. The skies are shaken by the force of their coupling. White heat fills the outer space. The come of the astral beasts renews the Milky Way. Draco doesn't notice any of this: he's focused on me and me alone. His eyes are brighter than any star.  
  
As we reach the breakfast table, I notice the mound of letters piled next to my plate: this isn't going to be a good day. Draco squeezes my hand: I don't know if he wants to reassure himself or me.  
  
Ron tries to be comforting, "You've got mail, mate. No Howlers, at least."  
  
Hermione raises her head from her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , grimacing.  
  
I'm able to read the huge title on the first page, "Who will save the Saviour?"  
  
Draco feigns a calm denied by his grip on my hand. "Is it as bad as it seems?"   
  
"It's hilarious, actually," comments Ginny. "It rants about the dangerous ex Death Eater corrupting the Golden Boy and turning him into dull lead. It remarks that Precious Potter --don't glare, Harry, I'm quoting-- would never be seen with Maleficent Malfoy --still quoting-- if not forced by dark magic. It goes on and on about the poor orphaned Boy-Who-Lived and how in is desperate need to be loved he let himself be corrupted by the evil but gorgeous son of Lucius Malfoy. It suggests the use of the Imperius Curse by the unredeemable young Slytherin."  
  
Draco is beyond perplexed. "I honestly don't understand what amuses you."  
  
"Knowing the truth," answers Ginny smartly, handing us the newspaper.  
  
I read the first sentences over Draco's shoulder: it's the usual, disgusting, written-by-Skeeter mix of half-truths, utter lies, wild speculations and distorted facts.   
  
I flip through the envelopes heaped on the table: I don't want to read this either.   
  
Ginny holds out her hand, and I give her the stack. She leafs through it, and then she shows me that many of them are addressed to Draco. I meet her eyes shaking my head minutely and she Incendioes the lot.  
  
Draco peeks up, and I shrug, "Either it was hate mail or marriage proposals. I'm not interested."  
  
He offers me a small smile and resumes his reading.  
  
I inhale deeply and rake my hand through my hair.  
  
"Come on, Harry," Hermione tries to comfort me, "it's not the first time Skeeter publishes defamatory articles. You know how it goes: it will blow down to nothing..."  
  
Draco folds the paper in brisk movements. "How dared that, that _salope_ write such utter crap about us! My father will hear about this," he looks suddenly defeated, "and would not be able to do a single thing to defend me..."  
  
I slide my arm around his waist and squeeze. "Don't worry, Draco. We knew this would happen, sooner or later. We'll face it. Together. Yes?"  
  
His smile is somewhat trembling at the corners, but I take it for assent.  
  
Hermione's seriously suggesting us to make a declaration to the press, and Luna is offering again to interview us for the _Quibbler_ , as Alba sweeps down with a formal looking envelope tied to her leg.  
  
I take it numbly, petting her head and staring at the Ministerial Insignia sealing the letter.  
  
I feel a sudden stab of sympathy for Uncle Vernon and his dislike for mail.  
  
Seeing that I'm reluctant to open it, Hermione holds her hand out for the letter. I give it to her without a word. She opens it and starts reading it aloud.  
  


> "Dear Mr. Potter,
> 
> a formal accusation of Use of Unforgivable Curses has been filed to our offices. As the supposed victim, you are required to attend the formal hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of April.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Justina Peacekeeper  
> The Department of Magical Law Enforcement Office  
> Ministry of Magic"

  
  
I don't have the time to say anything, when a nondescripts owl brings a similar envelope to Draco.  
  
His hands shake as he takes it, and his face is so pale it's almost bluish, but his voice is steady while he reads the convocation.  
  


> "Dear Mr. Malfoy,
> 
> We have received intelligence that you might have performed an Unforgivable Curse, or used other unlawful methods involving Dark Arts, with the purpose of submitting an upstanding citizen to your whims. As you are a pardoned Death Eater, this action will not be given amnesty.
> 
> You are required to attend the formal hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of April. The Minister himself will judge you.
> 
> Sincerely,  
> Justina Peacekeeper  
> The Department of Magical Law Enforcement Office  
> Ministry of Magic"

  
  
I try to smile in a reassuring way. "See? Shacklebolt is going to be there. He'll listen to me."  
  
Hermione reaches for the letter and Draco lets her have it.  
  
"You _might_ have performed Imperius, they say. They don't have proof, because you didn't. Since when does justice give credit to gossip? Draco, they don't have anything to use against you, only Skeeter's word."  
  
"That'll be enough to condemn me, you'll see," he mutters darkly.  
  
Ron adds his own bit of wisdom, "Mate, didn't you tell him? You're not affected by Imperius! Shacklebolt knows it! He'll believe you when you say you choose the Ferret freely."  
  
Before I can answer, Draco lashes out, "Me being suspected of using an Unforgivable is bad enough! It can mean Azkaban for me: don't you get it, Weasel? Even if they rule the Imperius Curse out due to Potter's resistance, they'll come up with something else to prove my guilt. Nobody will believe that the Golden Boy fell for Death Eater scum like me."  
  
"Draco..." I take his face into my hands and kiss him so deeply he has to choke back the last words, "I. Do. Love. You. Get it?"  
  
Not even Hermione complains.  
  
Ginny claps briefly. "Here's the Saviour, to the rescue. Draco, you have Harry ready to defend you. He'll be there with you. After the hearing the Minister will ask forgiveness for doubting you... want to bet?"  
  
"Maybe it won't come to that," I hasten to correct her, "but Shacklebolt will believe me. I'll ask them to use Veritaserum, if need be. You did nothing wrong."  
  
"Let's suppose they question us under Veritaserum," Draco concedes. "What about the bond? They'll suspect me to have plotted it all along, to gain your affection, to regain prestige, to restore the Malfoys' good name... I have plenty of reasons for wanting you by my side, love being the less important."  
  
"Is love the less important reason to be with me?" I search his eyes.  
  
"Politically speaking, yes. Otherwise, it's the only reason and you know it."  
  
I bump my head on his shoulder. "And if they ask you under Veritaserum if our bond was your doing, what will you answer?"  
  
"That I didn't know that spell would do anything more than remove the Dark Mark. Harry, I know they can't break our bond," he admits, rubbing the ring on his finger and sounding uncertain despite his words, "but they can still do a lot of nasty things to protect you from me..."  
  
"I don't need protection from you. I won't allow them to separate us. But about the bond... maybe Professors Flitwick and McGonagall may talk for us. Do you think Snape's portrait would agree to attend as well?"  
  
Hermione looks doubtful. "Portraits aren't usually allowed to testify at hearings, but I think you should definitely ask our teachers for advice. They have to excuse you from Friday's lessons, after all..."  
  
In the end, Hermione accompanies Draco and me to Professor McGonagall, to help us define a strategy for the hearing. Our teacher reads the convocation letters with concern on her features, but smiles reassuringly at us. "I'm sure Kingsley only wants to clarify things. By making it this official, he will prevent other people to doubt your bond and to defame Mr. Malfoy in the future. You two are adamant that your relationship is really what you want and that it wasn't forced in the slightest?"  
  
We not emphatically, showing her our rings and explaining about the knives' transfiguration.  
  
"Interesting... I'd really like to find out who the author of the binding spell was. Anyway," she dismisses the issue, "I'd be sure to escort you to the Ministry. Miss Granger, I fear you would not be allowed in, but I'd like a word with you. Potter, Malfoy, I'll see you in class tomorrow."  
  
I don't know why McGonagall needs to talk to Hermione in such a conspiratorial way, but I hope she has a plan.  
  


*

  
  
At dinner, an unexpected volley of owls brings a load of mail to our table.  
  
From the teacher's table, Professor Flitwick flicks his wand, and all the letters disappear but one.  
  
I pick up the envelope, not sure if I should be relieved or frightened to recognize Molly's handwriting on it.   
  
Ginny notices it as well. "Mother sent you a letter? What about? Are you sure it's not a Howler?"  
  
As the letter folds itself into a mouth, I wonder. However, Molly's voice comes out of the parchment in soothing tones, "Harry, my boy, I'm so sorry that you have to go through this again. That journalist! We all know it's a load of lies, dear. Thinking your heart can be swayed from his true path, unbelievable! The nerve of her! Suspecting the Malfoy boy to use the Imperius Curse, after having seen how crestfallen he was at the end of the war! Ginny, dear, are you eating your vegetables? We support you, Harry. Arthur will be at the Ministry if you need him. Tell the Malfoy boy he has nothing to worry about. You were moping for him at Christmas, weren't you? You deserve happiness, Harry, and we're glad you've found your match. Ron, dear, tell Hermione I'll send her my cooking notebook soon. Hugs to you all!"  
  
The letter dissolves in white confetti. Ginny shakes her head, suppressing laughter, at the sight of Draco's astonished face. Honestly, I look just as flabbergasted as he does.  
  
"Welcome in the family, then, _Malfoy boy_!" she puffs out.  
  
Hermione reaches us after dinner, and refuses to share with us what the Headmistress told her.  
  
"Don't worry," she reassures us, "everything will be fine."  
  
Draco's grateful smile takes us all by surprise.  
  
Later, in our bed, we make love like the world will end if we stop, rendering it impossible to tell my body parts apart from Draco's ones.  
  


*

  
  
**Friday 12-04-2012**  
  
After spending the last couple of days trying to be trustful in the Minister, reassuring each other, worrying about the outcome of the hearing and practicing in front of Hermione our answers to the most likely questions that will be asked us, we're utterly exhausted.  
  
Despite our tiredness and Draco's claims that multiple orgasms aid relaxation and thus favour sleep, the small hours of the morning find us awake, entangled into each other's arms. We lay there, silently, waiting for a proper time to go to breakfast.  
  
As the time of the hearing approaches, Draco closes himself behind an impassive mask, and I find myself more and more ready to jump into action. I won't be intimidated like I was at the disciplinary hearing before the beginning of Fifth Year: Kingsley and whoever will be present will have to listen to what I have to say.  
  
After a quick, shared shower, we get ready donning our most formal robes, and head towards the Great Hall. Our friends reach us shortly after. We eat in silence, as everything as already been said earlier.  
  
As Professor McGonagall signals us that it's time to go, Hermione hugs me and slips a piece of parchment into my hand. "When they ask you for proof, read this aloud, Harry. You'll be fine, both of you. I promise."  
  
I put it in my pocket and thank her. Then she holds out her hand for Draco, and he shakes it. Ron claps him on the back before gripping my shoulder for a moment. Ginny places a kiss on my cheek and on Draco's as well, catching him unawares. Blaise nods gravely. Luna murmurs that the Nargles will be on our side, and Neville offers us a Four-leaf Fortuna Clover and a smile.  
  


*

  
  
At the door of Courtroom Ten, we meet Arthur Weasley, who tells us the hearing will be held in Shacklebolt's Meeting Room. This bids well, and I can feel Draco's hand minutely relax his grasp on mine.  
  
The meeting room is crowded with Aurors; I recognize a few reporters --not Skeeter-- and I'm sure Unspeakables are present as well, but at least it doesn't look like a tribunal.  
  
"Headmistress, welcome," begins the Minister as we enter. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy." He winks at me. "You are here today because Rita Skeeter filed a report stating that if you two are in a relationship --and I can see that you are-- it is due to the use of Dark Arts by Mr. Malfoy. How do you respond?"  
  
Draco squares his shoulders and answers as planned, "I swear that I did not perform the Imperius Curse, nor did I use any Dark Magic, Potion, Charm or other kind of enchantment to win over Potter' heart and trust. Try me under Veritaserum, if need be: you'll get the same answer. I love Potter, and he requites my feelings by his own free will."  
  
Shaklebolt shakes his head, "I don't approve the use of Veritaserum, and only resort to it on those convicted for grave crimes. I doubt this situation calls for it. Harry... Mr. Potter, would you like to add something?"  
  
"As Draco... Mr. Malfoy said," I correct myself quickly, "my feelings for him are neither forced nor induced by any kind of dark spell. You'll find, Sir, that Skeeter still likes to spin tales about me."  
  
"Skeeter will be taken care of, if that's the case," assures Shacklebolt. "What about the mysterious spell that bonded you to each other?"  
  
As decided with Hermione, I offer my simple answer. "It is true that we both received the instruction of a spell that resulted in our being bonded. We do not know the source of the spell. We are sure that it did not change our feelings. We suppose it only increased our awareness of them, and gave us the courage to act on them."  
  
Shaklebolt looks toward Professor McGonagall inquisitively, nodding at her, and she reports him everything about the letters, the spell, Professor Flitwick's tests and Portrait Snape's statements.  
  
"Dear Headmistress," says the Minister gravely when she stops talking, "I wish it could be possible to admit Professor Snape's opinion, but as a portrait..."  
  
"As a portrait", Snape's cold voice startles us all. It comes from a painting of a small fishing boat rocked by high waves. Snape does not look at ease sitting on the small wooden bench inside the boat, his long hair lashing in the howling wind. However, his voice is louder than the wind: "As a portrait, I may come and go as I see fit. As I said once to my colleague, the bonding spell did not create feelings from thin air, nor did it force them. Unfortunately, I cannot give you proof of this."  
  
"I hope your word will suffice, Severus." Dumbledore's voice echoes from a frame representing a high tower. He leans out a small window, his beard tumbling down in white strands on the marble windowsill, and winks at us before disappearing again.  
  
"And if it does not," Snape continues, "I hope Potter will remember to make his final statement."  
  
Everybody turns towards me, and Draco nudges my side with his elbow. I suddenly remember Hermione's note: I fish it out of my pocket and unfold it quickly.  
  
"Sir, may I?" I ask Shaklebolt. He nods, and I read, hiding both surprise and relief as the words tumble out of my mouth.  
  
"If my relationship with Draco was forced upon me by a spell, be it Dark Arts or the bonding spell we performed in December, my true soul would know it and wish to be set free from such a constriction. If my relationship with Draco was of my choosing, I would be perfectly happy with my life, and I won't have any greatest and more hidden desire in the depths of my soul. I therefore require the test of the Mirror of Erised. Allow me and Draco to face the Mirror, and the reflection will be the proof you need."  
  
Shaklebolt claps his hands, and a burly pair of Aurors leaves the room, returning after a minute with the Mirror, hidden under a curtain. The Mirror is placed in front of Draco and me.  
  
Shaklebolt removes the cloth with a flourish, and I stare at the reflecting surface.  
  
I see Draco holding my hand, a tiny smile gracing his lips. We're dressed in formal robes.  
  
I stare at Draco's reflection in fascination, noticing how the tension leaves his body as he takes in my own reflection, comparing it to me with quick glances. The image and the truth coincide perfectly: after reading Hermione's note I expected this, but it's still a relief to see that it worked.  
  
The room is completely silent, as if waiting for something, until a voice mutters reverently, "That's me... first page... the Golden Quill Award..."   
  
Draco's worried whisper in my ear is barely audible. "Harry, if the Mirror shows one's deepest desires, how can the supposed witnesses see the same thing we are seeing?"  
  
"I am sure Hermione thought about this," I whisper back urgently. "We just have to figure out how..."  
  
I'm still fumbling for reassuring words, when the Head Auror addresses us, "Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. Do you allow me to perform a modified version of Legilimency on you? It will project on that wall the image you're seeing in the Mirror, allowing everybody in this room to witness it."  
  
We nod, sudden relief darting through us, again.  
  
The Head Auror waves his wand, casting _Legilimens Specularemque Faciem Revelio_.  
  
Our image appears on the wall: we look exactly like we are, both in the reflection and in the flesh.  
  
The chatter rising from the crowd is deafening.  
  
Shaklebolt smiles at us, raises a hand to get silence and addresses the press, "I exculpate Mr. Malfoy from every accusation of using Unforgivables or Dark Arts. I state that the bond shared by Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy is freely chosen and legally binding, as the rings they're wearing clearly attest. Anyone stating otherwise will be tried for calumny. Rita Skeeter already benefited our leniency as a previously unregistered Animagus: I intimate her not to write other defamatory articles, on penalty of the breaking of all her quills and banishment from this Wizarding Community. By my authority and for Merlin's Sake, this hearing is over."  
  
As Aurors and reporters flow out of the room, I turn to Draco. His smile is blindingly bright, but I can only see it for a second: I find myself wrapped into his arms, his mouth hot and eager upon mine.  
  
I'm so engrossed in the kiss, I almost miss Kingsley's final words, "Be happy, my boys. It looks like the whole Universe plotted to allow you two to be together..."  
  


*

  
  
**Epilogue - early summer**  
  
The N.E.W.T.s are over, and our life is spread in front of us, full of promises. Of one thing we're certain: we'll live it together.  
  
Draco and I are lying on a blanket at the lakeshore at sunset, curled together and lazily kissing, when a flutter of wings startles us.  
  
Luna is standing at the feet of the blanket, a dreamy, knowing smile hanging on her lips.  
  
"Here you are, lover-boys. Did my magpies scare you?"  
  
"Not at all, although they _did_ interrupt us."  
  
Draco is still learning how to be kind toward my friends, but Luna doesn't seem to mind.  
  
"Wrackspurts are scared of magpies, did you know?"  
  
I can't lie to Luna. "Well, not really, no."  
  
"I like magpies," she continues, unfazed by my lack of enthusiasm. "They always bring me baubles and shiny things. They belong to the same family of crows, you know. Intelligent creatures, they are, easier to train than owls. Even Professor Snape was partial to them. Said they're more reliable if you have to send vital mail."  
  
This startles me, but Draco beats me to the question.  
  
"And when did he say that, pray tell?"  
  
"Oh, it was some days before the Last Battle, you know." Luna's gaze becomes unfocused as she recalls. "We met in the Owlery. He asked me if I wanted to be useful. He wasn't scary at all. A sad, sad man. Always hiding his better side. Said the magpies will answer my call. _Call them if both the boys survive_ , he said. _The Nargles will tell you when_ , he said. _The magpies will make everything fine after my death_ , he said. And they did, didn't they?"  
  
  


**the end**


End file.
